


just the outlines of our hands

by justaboat



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:18:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justaboat/pseuds/justaboat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is a mechanic who wants nothing to do with Harry. Harry's a bored rich kid in the summertime who wants everything to do with Louis. </p><p>An au very loosely based on The Notebook.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just the outlines of our hands

**Author's Note:**

> this is for amber, because it was the first au we thought up together. merry christmas, darling. 
> 
> leighanne and betsy for reading and editing, being wonderful and most importantly, putting up with me.
> 
> title taken from daughter's tomorrow.

“Can I help you?”

Harry’s been looking at the wall in front of him, covered with pictures and newspaper articles praising the mechanic shop. His hands are clasped behind his back, and he’s in the middle of reading about when Michael Douglas apparently came to this very building when one of his tires popped when he hears a demanding voice behind him.

He turns and, oh.

There stands a boy around his age, covered in grease and holding up a dirty rag. His eyes are wide, waiting for an answer and it’s a little funny, Harry supposes, the agitation clear on his face. 

“I’m here to pick up a car?” Harry replies, trying to get a good look at the name tag. “Niall?”

The boy frowns, shaking his head. “It’s Louis. I ripped a hole in my other uniform,” he explains, quick and to the point. “What’s your last name?”

“Styles,” Harry says, watching where Louis goes behind the desk. He looks over a clipboard, running his finger down what looks to be a chart before he taps once on a box.

“Harry Styles?” he asks. Harry nods. “Here are your keys.”

Usually they’d say something about the car, how much it costs or something about the leather seats but Louis doesn’t say anything. In fact, he’s unnervingly formal about the whole ordeal. It’s intriguing when he puts Harry’s keys into his palm, nodding once before going back towards the door. 

“That’s it?” Harry asks. Louis pauses.

“What, did you want me to do a dance? Maybe since you a song? Because you’re going to have to go to another mechanic if you’re looking for that kind of service,” Louis replies.

Harry stares at him, unable to hold back the grin that’s breaking out across his face. Instead he licks his lips and doesn’t miss the way Louis’ eyes widen, just a little, when he does. At least, if anything, that’s something he can take home with him, he thinks to himself with a little bit of pride.

“How old are you?” Harry asks, unable to really think of anything else to say.

Louis’ brows furrows. “Nearly twenty. Now can I get back to work?”

“Alright, but I’ll have another question next time I come in, then,” Harry says. It’s meant to sound charming but more so it comes out like an oddly phrased threat.

“Right, well. You’ll have to do some serious damage to that car to get it back in here, you’re not due for an oil check in six months mate,” Louis replies, wiping his hands on the dirty rag. It seems sort of pointless to Harry to do that when it’s not going to clean his hands any.

“You can get oil changes sooner, can’t you?” Harry asks innocently.

It’s a moment before Louis’ eyes narrow. “I have to get back to work but it was nice to meet you, Harry Styles,” Louis says as he pushes open the door, bracing it against his hip. “Even if you are a little odd.”

“Something like that,” Harry replies with a wink before giving a final nod, pushing open the door and walking out into the car park.

He’s got the receipt in his hand, reciting the cost of his oil change and the fixing of his left light in the front as he puts it into his pockets. His father gave him firm instructions to leave the paperwork from the mechanic on his desk in his office, so that’s what he’s going to do. 

Harry pauses before getting into the driver’s seat, taking one last look towards the mechanic shop as he puts a hand over his eyes, wincing in the bright sunlight.

And if he didn’t know any better, he would almost say he saw what looks to be a Louis staring at him before snapping his head away from the window.

—

He’s in Zayn’s bedroom, smoking a joint and his limbs sprawled out in front of him when he should, technically, be doing his algebra homework. Instead he’s taking a hit, letting his eyes close briefly where he can hear voices from downstairs.

“Did you get question seven?” Zayn asks, hunched over his desk and staring at his binder with a grimace clear on his features.

Harry shakes his head, laughing a little. It feels delayed in his head, the sound coming a little while after it’s left his lips. “Haven’t even started it,” he replies.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Zayn grunts, tossing a pencil at him.

It’s not like Harry can really argue that, leaning forward a little as he opens his textbook. Though all he really sees are questions he doesn’t want to answer because he’d much rather be at that party Liam invited them too.

“ _Zaaaaaaayn_ ,” Harry chants, on his stomach where his arms are resting over the edge of the bed. “I think we should go to Jade’s party. Don’t you?”

There’s no response. Instead he’s greeted with staring at Zayn’s broad shoulders, which seem to be slumped in what Harry can only assume to be annoyance. 

“I mean, Liam invited us. And it’s Friday night. And, like you said when I got here, if we finished that fucking English essay we could go,” Harry adds, as if this is supposed to help his cause.

“Just —” Zayn starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “Let me finish this question.”

“Brilliant,” Harry grins, sitting up as he makes his way across the room.

He opens Zayn’s wardrobe, feeling comfortably loose as he begins to rifle through his shirts. Button ups, long sleeved, a few jumpers.

“What are you doing?” Zayn asks, still not looking up from his work. 

“I need something to wear. Gotta look presentable for tonight, don’t I?” Harry replies, pulling out a button up black shirt.

Zayn shakes his head. “I don’t know why I even bother,” he mutters, though Harry can make out the fondness of it. 

They bicker for a while, Harry complaining that they are going to be late and Zayn telling him to fuck off, they’ll get there when they get there. Meanwhile Liam’s texting him constantly, asking when they’re coming and telling him who’s all there which is need to know information, apparently.

Harry sits on the bed, scrolling aimlessly through his twitter while Zayn goes to get ready in the bathroom. It’ll be a while so he needs to keep himself occupied at least. The weed is already beginning to wear off a little, a headache starting in the back of his head as he ignores a text from Gemma asking him how long he’s going to have the car for. 

“You know, it still amazes me how long it takes you to get ready,” Harry comments fifteen minutes later when there’s still no sign of Zayn.

“I could just go alone,” Zayn says in response before opening the door, taking his leather jacket from the back of the chair.

Harry hands him his keys because he hasn’t smoked, going down the stairs and out the front door. Zayn’s dad is away on a business trip, his mother at some book club as they get into his car. There’s a few take away bags littered throughout as Harry puts them into the back seat, ignoring Zayn’s scoff when he does.

“Fucking smells in here,” Zayn says, backing out onto the road as Harry rolls his eyes.

“I keep good care of my car, thank you.” Harry replies.

Zayn doesn’t say anything, though he mutters something like ‘idiot’ when they’ve started off towards Jade’s house. Harry’s only been there a handful of times, mostly on weekends when no one was having any sort of party, they’d just go to Jade’s. She might have a hot tub, Harry can’t recall, where he’s got his forehead pressed against the glass.

It’s about ten minutes before they park a little down the street, Zayn taking out a cigarette almost immediately after they start towards the house. Harry shivers a little, regrets not taking one of Zayn’s jackets as he puts his hands into his pockets. It’s a little past eleven, last time he checked, yet somehow it feels earlier than that.

When they enter the house it’s pretty full, Harry recognizing a handful of people when they make it through the door. It smells like flat beer and old cigarettes, a smell he’s not all that fond of but he’s used to it, at any rate.

First stop is the kitchen where Harry picks up a beer, Zayn opting out for water when he apparently has to ‘drag Harry’s drunken ass home’ when they start looking for Liam. Harry takes a drink, cold against his throat and adding an extra warmth inside of him. 

They soon locate Liam in the garage, playing beer pong with someone Harry doesn’t recognize. They’ve got blonde hair, arms raised over their head in apparent victory whereas Liam presently has his head hung in shame.

“Told you you were never that good at beer pong Li,” Harry says, leaning an arm against his shoulder.

Liam pouts, bumping his hip into Harry’s. “Not fair. This kid’s irish,” he argues, though it sounds a little more like whining.

Harry smirks, looking to see the blonde haired irish boy shrugging. “When it’s in your blood you can’t really help it,” he says, cheeks flushed.

“See that, Liam? It’s in his blood. Nothing you could’ve done,” Harry encourages, feeling Liam bury his head into his neck as he laughs, quietly.

Zayn’s talking to Perrie in the corner, listening to her talk animatedly as Harry hums, extending a hand towards the irish kid.

“Harry,” he introduces, “and this is Liam, as he would say if he wasn’t being such a sore loser right about now.”

“Niall,” he replies, the wide smile still on his lips, “can’t say I blame him. He’ll get over it eventually, I hope.”

“Might not, to be honest. I think you’ve broken him, Niall.”

Liam makes a sound in protest, pinching Harry’s arm as he shakes his head. “Now, now,” Harry lectures briefly, before turning his attention back to Niall, “are you from around here?”

Niall nods, arms crossed over his chest. “Live just off of Chesterfield with my mate. We started working at that mechanic shop, the one on Maine?”

It takes a moment for Harry to make sure he isn’t going to choke on his beer as he clears his throat. He makes an anguished sort of sound when Liam shifts, a confused look on his features when he brings his head out of Harry’s neck. 

“Mike’s Mechanics?” Harry supplies, hoping he doesn’t come off as creepy or anything.

But Niall just grins, like he’s proud or something. “Yeah, it’s sick. I’ve only been there for a month but it’s fucking great.”

Harry swallows, needing to stop for a moment to make sure he hasn’t swallowed his tongue or anything drastic so he can actually speak. “And your friend likes it there too?” Harry all but squeaks.

Maybe it’s not Louis. But maybe it is. Maybe he needs to fucking calm down, is maybe what he needs to do.

“We both like it a lot. I mean, I haven’t been in the mechanic business long but it’s something I could see myself doing for a long time,” Niall says, “what about you?”

“Just in my last year of school. Graduate in a few weeks though,” Harry replies. He hates giving that response. High school, he thinks to himself. So boring. 

Niall nods, about to say something else until — “Oi, there you are! Been looking for you for ages, you idiot.”

It might be the weed, but Harry’s pretty sure he’s looking at Louis from Mike’s Mechanics. A rather fit Louis from Mike’s Mechanic’s, wearing a beanie, black skinny jeans and a jumper with a design on it Harry doesn’t recognize. 

“Shove off, mate. You _should_ be congratulating me. I just kicked Liam’s arse at beer pong,” Niall explains. 

Louis pauses, looking between Harry and Liam. “I’m assuming Liam is the one with a defeated look on his face?” Louis asks. Liam nods. “Ah, well. Now you know never to challenge him again yeah?”

Liam frowns. Harry’s going to have to deal with him moping for the next week, he just knows it. “Should’ve guessed by the accent I was going to lose,” Liam adds. Louis gives him what looks to be a sympathetic look in response, clasping his shoulder.

“At least you have this tall boy to keep you steady,” Louis replies.

Niall snorts, shaking his head. “It’s Harry, actually,” Harry speaks up after a moment.

Their height difference is more noticeable with them in the garage of Jade’s house, Louis now having to tilt his head up to get a good look at Harry. His eyes narrow, similar to what they’d done when they had first met a few weeks ago.

“Harry Styles? Oil and tire change?” Louis asks.

“That unforgettable am I?” Harry replies, decidedly not commenting on the fact that Liam has his head in his hands again. Though this time he assumes it’s more from embarrassment.

“Not really. Just have a good memory,” Louis says simply.

Harry has to physically bite down on his lower lip to keep himself from smiling more than necessary. “I’m very impressed.”

“You really shouldn’t be,” Louis replies, though he’s smiling just a little. 

“Don’t think you can really stop me from being impressed,” Harry says, watching the way Louis shakes his head.

“I was right about you,” he says, pointing a finger at Harry’s chest. Harry nearly wraps his hand around it but stops himself, taking a sip of his drink to instead occupy his fingers. “You are odd.”

Harry shrugs, glancing over to see Liam, Niall, and Zayn talking to one another before turning back to Louis. “Doesn’t look like you seem to mind, though.”

“I’ve talked to you twice, Harry. I hardly think you can make assumptions on those whole two conversations we’ve had,” Louis replies, pausing as he looks up at Harry once more. And Harry think he’s going to maybe, possibly kiss him until — “Oh my God. Are you high?”

“I believe the correct term is stoned,” Harry corrects, taking another sip of his drink. Louis rolls his eyes.

“Thank you for passing on your wisdom of the wonders of weed to me. I had no idea,” Louis replies and Harry thinks he’s meant to sound annoyed but he sounds more amused than anything. “How are you getting home?”

Harry motions to Zayn, who seems keen on whatever Niall’s talking about. “Zayn’s driving my car,” he explains.

“Good,” Louis says with a nod. “I should — go. Have some people to talk to still.”

He takes a step back, but Harry shakes his head. Before he can over think it he reaches out, taking a gentle hold on Louis’ elbow. 

“You can’t go until you agree to go on a date with me,” Harry says finally.

Louis blinks before laughing quietly into the back of his hand. 

“You can’t be serious.” He doesn’t move his elbow from Harry’s touch. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen, so old enough,” Harry replies, voice serious now. “C’mon, Lou, just one date.”

“Nicknames already? Bit forward,” Louis says, “I’ll think about it. How’s that sound?”

Harry pouts, one arm crossed across his chest. But Louis is already near the door of the garage, giving him a final wave and shouting something to Niall before going back into the party. And Harry supposes he should be sad, or something, because it was a definite yes. But it also wasn’t a no, he reminds himself, walking back towards Zayn, Niall, and Liam. He half listens to their conversation, pressed into Liam’s side and possibly spending more time than he should picturing a shirtless Louis working underneath a car.

—

At the end of the summer his mother is having her annual summer luncheon at their house, which means that for the next two weeks Harry is going to have to deal with a stressed mother and a father who doesn’t really care all that much. So he goes with her to the shop when school is done, save for exams, but Harry’s not really one for studying anyway.

The first thing according to his mother, Anne, is table cloths. Apparently they ‘set the mood’ as she informs him, the two walking down an aisle at the local decor shop. Harry’s pushing the trolley, nodding along as she discusses what colour panel she wants. He’s used to it by now, these conversations and planning, all the attention to the detail and worrying about what orderves best fit with the main course.

And while he might be used to it, that doesn’t mean he particularly enjoys it.

He watches as his mum puts a set of table clothes into his trolley, then going on to look for cutlery as Harry follows behind her. She’s been having these parties since he can remember, back when he was a lot younger and only saw it as a reason for him to wear comfortable clothes and eat as many cheesy puffs as he wanted. 

Somewhere along the way his phone goes off, taking it out of his pocket as he answers.

“Hello?”

“ _Harry, dear? It’s Lou._ ”

He grins, leaning against the bar of the shopping trolley as he follows behind his mother. “How are you?” he asks, ignoring the look of curiosity his mother gives him as she puts a set of cutlery into the trolley.

“ _I’m alright love. You know I had to pick up Tom from the airport this afternoon?_ ” she asks, sounding rushed.

Harry puts the phone onto his shoulder. “Yeah, I remember. Everything okay?”

“ _It’s fine, it’s fine, I just don’t know if I’ll make it back in time to get Lux from school in an hour. I know it’s short notice and a lot to ask but could you —_ ”

“I’ll get her, Lou. Don’t worry,” Harry cuts her off without a second thought.

“ _You’re an absolute angel. I should be there a little after school’s out, so you two can just come to the house yeah? She knows where the key is._ ”

“Sounds good. See you then,” Harry says before hanging up.

He drops his mum off at home, taking his car out to Lux’s school when he checks the time. Still got half an hour, Harry realizes as he stops off to get an iced coffee along the way. 

He parks in a spot near the back of the car park, getting out as he takes his phone and wallet from the cup holder. Up front he sees a group of people standing outside the gate, chatting and talking amongst themselves as Harry puts a hand into the pocket of his jeans. 

He takes out his phone, texting Zayn to ask him if he wants to study for their english exam later on tonight when he spots someone familiar in the crowd. Harry smiles to himself, walking a few steps to gently nudge Louis’ side from where he’s standing, leaning against the gate patiently.

Louis looks up, pausing for a moment as he eyes Harry’s iced coffee. “What’re you doing here then?” he asks, as if it’s not a weird coincidence that they’ve just seen each other outside a primary school.

Harry shrugs. “Picking up my friend’s daughter for her,” he replies, sucking a bit of his drink through his straw. “You?”

If he didn’t know any better he’d say Louis was staring at him drinking, his cheeks flushing when he turns away to glance towards the school doors. “Mum’s working later so I’m picking up the girls from school for her,” Louis says.

“How many sisters?” Harry asks, curious.

“Four. The twins are here though, the rest are in secondary school,” Louis explains, “they hate taking the bus, so.”

“Was never keen on the bus myself,” Harry says. Louis scowls.

“Don’t encourage them,” he says pointedly. 

The bell rings a few moments later, the doors opening and children rushing out. Harry waits, soon spotting a familiar head of blonde hair as he moves towards her.

“Lux!” he calls, watching her turn around. She spots Harry easily, a grin coming to her face as she rushes towards him. Harry laughs, pulling her close as he lifts her up, balancing her on his hip. “I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

Louis only has one of two twins by his side, talking to her quietly as he cups her face in his hands. The little girl beams up at him, pausing when she notices Harry.

“Louis,” Harry starts, “this is Lux. Lux, this is Louis.”

Louis smiles, shaking her little hand politely. “Nice to meet you,” he greets. Lux giggles. “This is Phoebe and — Daisy! Over here, love!”

The twins are pulling on Louis’ coat, talking loudly and excitedly and it looks like he’s having a bit of trouble keeping up as Harry smiles a little. 

“Looks like you’ve got your hands full. It was nice meeting you,” Harry says to the twins as they giggle.

“You’re proper handsome,” one of them — possibly Daisy, Harry thinks — says. Louis’ cheeks flush again. 

“I’m um, sorry about that. They have a tendency to speak their mind —” Louis says, giving Daisy a look before taking their hands and starting towards the car park.

“Louis?”

Louis looks up, staring at him. “Yes?”

“What are you doing on Thursday night? I’m done with my exams by then, thought we could maybe get some dinner or something.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Bye, Harry,” he says with a small wave.

He waves Lux’s hand towards them, taking her back to his car where he’s got a small baby seat set up in the back as he helps her in. He takes one last look at Louis helping his sisters into his car before getting into the driver’s seat.

— 

The good news is, he’s done his exams. The even better news is, he’s drunk and laying down in Liam’s garden. The bad news is, he thinks he might be sick.

Inside the house there’s music playing loudly but Harry’s too preoccupied with ripping up fistfulls of grass and letting it fall into a pile on his stomach. His head is spinning comfortably and he’s got nowhere else to be for the rest of the summer. It’s a nice feeling to have, not being needed or wanted or tied to anything. Instead he can stretch out his arms and close his eyes and —

“Harry?”

He shifts, opening one eye where he sees what he thinks is Louis staring at him. He’s at the end of the driveway, keys in hand as he’s bent over a little, watching him.

“Hi, Louis.”

“I was gonna offer you a drink but I’d say you’re doing alright,” Louis says, now crouching beside him. 

Harry grins up at him, bringing a finger to poke at his cheek. “For someone who doesn’t like me all that much you seem to bump into me a lot,” he says.

A silence passes between them and Louis frowns, one of his fingers wrapping around Harry’s own as he picks at the grass, considering. “I never said I didn’t like you,” Louis says finally, his voice quiet. “Why don’t we get you back inside?”

“Only if you agree to go on a date with me,” Harry says firmly.

Louis leans back on the balls of his heels, looking both annoyed and amused. He glances at Harry for a moment before sighing, his shoulders slumping as he holds out a hand to help him up. 

“Fine. One date, that’s it,” Louis acquests and before Harry can have a moment to gloat he adds — “Now will you please come inside?”

“How does Friday night work?” Harry asks when they’re through the door, Louis taking him towards a couch in the living room.

He doesn’t see Zayn or Liam anywhere from where he’s sitting. Louis tells him to stay put while he goes to get a glass of water. The world is spinning comfortably, the couch firm beneath him as Harry stares up at the ceiling, as if hoping it will congratulate him. Because he finally got Louis to say yes.

“Are Niall and Zayn particularly acquainted?” Louis asks. He’s suddenly beside Harry now, putting a glass of water into his hand.

Harry blinks, thinking over his words for a moment. He holds up a finger, bringing it to his lip as he shakes his head. “Don’t think so. They’ve talked a few times, I think?”

Louis smiles, turning Harry slightly with a hardly noticeable touch to his shoulder and when he looks he sees, well. He sees Niall and Zayn, though Niall is presently in Zayn’s lap looking like he’s sucking off Zayn’s face. Or trying his very best to, anyway. Harry laughs loudly, the sound escaping his lips as he slaps a hand over his mouth.

“Apparently it’s a bit more than talking,” Louis replies, highly amused.

“I’m going to give Zayn so much shit for this,” Harry promises. Louis nods in response. 

“So. Our date,” Louis starts, now avoiding Harry’s gaze as he leans his head back against the couch. “Drink your water before you answer that.”

Harry does as he’s told, taking a sip before looking back towards Louis and says, “I’m free every night this week.”

Louis snorts, not commenting on the way Harry begins to tug at his beanie, just a little, pulling it off his head slowly. “I have Wednesday off?” Louis finally proposes. "We could meet at the pier at say, seven?”

“Or,” Harry says, dropping the beanie onto his lap. “I could pick you up, alternatively. Like a real, proper date.”

Louis rolls his eyes and Harry’s beginning to believe it’s not in annoyance anymore, but more so something fond. Or that’s what he’s going to tell himself, anyway. 

“Fine. Seven. You can pick me up at my flat,” Louis replies, sighing in defeat. 

“Perfect,” Harry grins. “It’s settled then.”

“Right. Well, Zayn seems a little occupied, so lets get you home, shall we?” Louis offers, standing and extending a hand towards Harry to help him off the couch.

They walk out to Louis’ car where Harry pinches himself along the way because it’s happening. He’s going on a date with Louis.

—

When Harry wakes up Tuesday afternoon he hears his mother downstairs, moving about the kitchen and baking. He pulls up a stool by the countertop where she’s rolling dough. She glances up, giving him a short look of disapproval before turning on the kettle. It’s no secret his mother is his favourite, especially now when she’s making toast for him and humming an unfamiliar tune in the sunlight that’s coming through the kitchen windows. 

“How was your night?” she asks, trying to be not obvious. Which she’s horrible at.

Harry shakes his head, the pounding in his head a bit much as he stirs his tea. “It was fine. A little celebration,” he replies.

Anne’s smiling at him then, one that says ‘I-know-something-you-don’t’ as Harry tries not to squirm where he’s sitting in his chair. “Your friend last night was very handsome, wouldn’t you say?”

Harry chokes on his tea, coughing into his elbow as he nearly splutters everywhere. “My — friend?” he repeats, trying to sound nonchalant. Mostly he sounds like he’s going to cough up a lung at any moment.

Anne raises her eyebrows, the toast finished as she puts the plate in front of him. “Louis? Isn’t that his name? He looks familiar.”

For a moment he considers not saying anything, pretending he didn’t hear her while he pokes at his toast. All of his memories from last night are a bit hazy, though he does remember seeing Niall and Zayn trying to suck off each other’s faces, walking out to Louis’ car, driving to his house and his mother waking up and — oh, sure, yeah. Brilliant.

Harry groans, rubbing a hand along his face. “Right, yeah, Louis. I’m um, sorry about that.”

“I wasn’t all that upset. Your father wants to have to have a chat with you later though,” Anne says, taking out a bowl of raspberries from the fridge. Raspberry tarts. Maybe this annual dinner won’t be so bad this year after all, Harry thinks to himself.

Hardly likely, though.

“He works at the mechanic shop? Mikey’s Mechanics, or something?” Harry asks.

Anne looks up at him, her smile bright as she nods. “I know. He told me.”

“What else — did he tell you?” Harry asks between taking bites of his toast. 

“Just said that you’ve been after him to go on a date for a few weeks now. Apparently you’re going on one on Wednesday?” she asks, giving Harry a look.

For a moment Harry considers trying to find a way to make himself small enough to fit into the mug he’s holding, leaning over to take a raspberry from her bowl. Anne smacks the top of his hand lightly, scowling at him as he laughs quietly.

“Surprised he said yes to be honest,” Harry tells her truthfully, “I almost gave up the last time I asked him.”

“Well, where did you ask him?”

“When I picked up Lux that one day after school. He was picking up his sisters,” Harry replies. 

“You asked him out when he was picking up his sister? Have I taught you nothing?” Anne asks, trying to sound offended.

Harry leans his chin on top of the counter, staring up at her as she places a raspberry in front of him. “I dunno. It was a spontaneous decision, I suppose,” he replies, putting the piece of fruit into his mouth.

“I suppose it counts for something if he said yes eventually,” Anne says finally. “What are you going to wear?”

“Oh my God, _mum_ ,” Harry says, finishing off his toast as he pokes a few of the crumbs on his plate. “I think I can dress myself.”

“Fine, fine,” Anne sighs dramatically, pinching his cheek briefly before moving to put the pie into the oven.

The kitchen smells like baking, the warmth of the oven welcome to Harry’s still slightly cold hands and feet as he finishes his tea. If she said his father wants to talk to him then he should get that over with before going to Zayn’s to tease him mercilessly about his little snog fest with Niall last night. 

“Dad in his office?” Harry asks, watching his mum as she turns to face him.

“Should be. Go wash up after, all right?” she tells him, kissing his cheek briefly before taking his mug and plate to put into the dishwasher.

Harry walks down the hallway, nearly dragging his feet behind himself as he checks his phone. There’s a text from Zayn _COME OV ER TOMOR RO W WE CAN TALK ABOUT NIA LL I LLVOE YOU SO SO MUCH_ he reads, smirking to himself before putting it into the pocket of his jeans.

He knocks once, hearing his father call out “come in” as he pushes open the door. Harry can see him at his desk, a stack of papers in front of him as he doesn’t look up.

“Get in a little late last night?” he starts. Harry has to physically put himself into the chair in front of the desk instead of walking out.

“A little, yeah. Mum said you weren’t too happy,” Harry says, leaning back against the seat.

His dad finally looks up then; his lips in a firm, thin line. “You’re going to university in a few months, Harry.”

And well, at least Harry now knows what conversation to expect. It could have been any of the usual ‘you’re wasting your potential’ or ‘I’m taking your car away until you can act like an adult’. But apparently it’s the ‘lets talk about your higher education’ kind of talk. Harry folds his hands into his lap, as if bracing himself. 

“Really? I hadn’t realised.” Harry replies, picking at a loose thread on his jumper.

“Don’t be sarcastic with me,” his dad snaps, taking off his glasses as he sets them onto his stack of papers. This is serious then, Harry thinks to himself in mild amusement.

“Sorry, won’t happen again.”

“What I want to say is that I don’t appreciate you spending your nights going out and drinking excessively and asking random boys on dates,” his father begins, never being a man to beat around the bush.

Harry holds back his laugh, figures it would be inappropriate to do right now. “He’s not a random boy.”

“Where did you meet him?” 

“He did the oil change on my car. Then I met him at a friend’s house afterwards,” Harry says simply.

His father sighs, rubbing his temples. “You can’t just — waste your time with someone like him.”

Harry blinks. He wonders for a moment if his father actually said what came out of his mouth. He shifts in his chair, now sitting up a bit more as he leans forward, elbows braced on his thighs. 

“Someone like him." Harry repeats, “I’m not quite sure I understand what you’re saying now, dad, because it sounds to me like you think Louis is beneath me, which. I hardly think is true.”

“I never said that,” his father replies quickly, his tone sharp. Defensive.

“What did you mean, then? I’m curious.” Harry presses, now pushing the envelope further and further as he watches his dad’s eyes narrow in response. 

“I only mean that —” he pauses, now having abandoned any and all work to focus on Harry. That’s new. “He doesn’t have the same goals for his future like you do.”

Harry pauses, making it seem like he’s considering his father’s words. But mostly he’s trying to figure out if his dad ever noticed the mark he made on the underside of his desk, back when he was thirteen and pissed off for some reason. He’d made Zayn keep watch while he took a knife to the wood, carving the words _I’M A HUGE FUCKING DICK_ there, accompanied by a rather detailed drawing of a penis. Seems he hasn’t noticed, at any rate.

“Now that’s funny —” Harry says finally, running his palms along his legs before resting them on the arm rest. “Because it’s always been the plans you have for me, isn’t it? They’ve never really been _my_ goals. Mostly yours.”

And for a moment, Harry thinks he might have pushed the envelope the farthest it can go. That maybe his father will finally crack and say everything he’s wanted to say for eighteen years. But he doesn’t, the moment passing as he sighs, loudly.

“I’m looking out for you, Harry.”

Harry snorts. “You’re just trying to make me into something I’m not, is what you’re doing.”

“Don’t you start —”

“And you know what else? I’m going to go on a date with Louis, and I’m going to have a good time. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to Zayn’s house now.”

Harry stands, ignoring his father’s near shouts from his office as he starts upstairs. He can hear his mother rushing towards the office, her voice calm when Harry reaches his room, closing the door behind himself. 

He takes his keys and a jacket, not bothering with a shower as he goes out to his car and off to Zayn’s house without a second thought. 

—

“I’m lactose intolerant.”

Louis is standing in front of him, arms across his chest and his features pinched in a stubborn sort of expression. Harry shakes his head. “I know that’s not true because you had a milkshake at dinner,” he argues.

“I don’t want you to pay for this. You paid for dinner already. This — is too much.” Louis says finally, his voice quieter now. Almost like he’s ashamed or something.

Harry doesn’t say anything, instead taking Louis’ hand into his own. His hands are smaller, more calloused from his job but Louis doesn’t remove it from his grasp. 

“I don’t mind,” Harry says slowly so Louis can’t mistake how serious he’s being about this. “Honest.”

They stay there for about half a minute, a few girls giggling loudly as they walk through the doors. Harry watches as Louis bites down on his lower lip, chewing for a moment before motioning towards the door. 

“Well then, shall we?” Louis says, the two then walking into the small ice cream shop.

It’s not until they’re looking at flavours does Harry realize Louis’ fingers are intertwined with his own. He looks through the glass, repeating the small cards with each flavour on them to himself and squeezes his hand, just a little, to get Louis’ attention.

“We could just try them all,” he suggests.

“Yeah, I mean, if we really wanted to make ourselves lactose intolerant, sure.” Louis deadpans. 

They take their time, though that’s mostly because Harry says a flavour and Louis will shake his head, moving on to the next one until they find one each of them like. Harry picks chocolate raspberry and Louis a caramel crunch something or other he can’t remember the name of. When he goes to pay Louis releases his hand, taking the small paper bowl from the person behind the counter.

Harry leans his face against Louis’ shoulder for a moment once they’re outside, the contact brief as they cross the street. There’s a small pier just off the road and with the sun setting, Harry would say it’s almost romantic. 

“Is it any good?” Harry asks when they’re walking along, stopping at a small bit of unoccupied space looking out across the water. 

“You could try some, you know,” Louis replies. He’s smiling in the light of the setting sun and it’s a bit breathtaking, if Harry’s being honest.

“No need to be rude about it,” Harry chastises, though he’s mostly teasing when he leans towards the spoonful Louis is extending towards him.

He opens his mouth, half expecting to taste whatever flavour Louis picked until he feels something cold on his nose. He’s let out a yelp of surprise, Louis soon pushing it up onto his face as Harry laughs loudly, trying to bat him away. 

“You — little — menace —” Harry says, breathless, suddenly finding himself pinned against the boardwalk and, oh.

“This menace could help you clean it up, if you’d like,” Louis proposes, now having to stand on his toes to look at him properly.

He almost sounds shy about it, Harry thinks briefly before nodding. Louis is staring at his lips for a moment before leaning forward and then they’re kissing and it’s —

Well, it’s perfect.

Louis’ lips are soft and Harry’s are still a bit sticky from the now melted ice cream so they stick a bit, though neither of them are complaining. Instead, Louis runs his tongue along Harry’s lower lip as he lets out a small groan from the back of his throat. Before he can do anything else in response Louis pulls away, laughing as his cheeks flush. 

“There’s children around, Harry, oh my _God_ —” Louis starts but Harry shakes his head, not wanting to have any space between them and tugs at Louis’ waist, pulling him closer.

Louis doesn’t stop Harry from kissing him again, a hand pressed against his chest and this is good. Harry likes this. This being kissing but also _this_ being Louis. 

“We could take this somewhere a bit more… private,” Harry says as he pulls away just a little, feeling Louis’ breath on his cheeks. Louis raises his eyebrows in a silent question. “We could snog in my car in front of your flat?”

Louis grins. “I like the way you think, Styles.”

—

“This is stupid,” Niall grunts where he’s trying to fit a suitcase into the trunk of Harry’s car.

“It’s not stupid, it’s romantic,” Harry says, handing him another bag.

Niall doesn’t say anything, though he does roll his eyes from where he’s still got the trunk open. “It’s for a weekend, how much stuff do you need? Even Zayn wouldn’t pack this much stuff,” he says, hands on his hips. Harry snorts.

“I heard that,” Zayn says, coming up behind Niall when he throws the last of the items by Harry’s front door into the trunk.

Niall gives him an apologetic grin when Zayn leans toward him, Harry averting his gaze to make a gagging sound. He takes out his keys, leaning his hip against the car door.

“So Louis has no idea?” Harry asks. He looks to Niall, because he’s the one with the bad habit to ruin surprises.

“None. Just thinks he’s got the weekend off,” Niall replies, hands raised in defense. 

Harry nods, convinced. He checks the time, almost five minutes late when he moves a finger toward Zayn and Niall. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t, alright?” he says, grinning.

“Fuck off,” Zayn says. Niall laughs, muffling the sound somewhere in Zayn’s collarbone. Harry laughs. 

“Alright, well. Bye,” Harry says with a wave when he gets into the driver’s seat.

Mike’s Mechanics is almost empty, probably because it’s Friday afternoon when Harry walks in the door. He waves to Mike, bent over a book on the front desk when Harry clears his throat.

“He’s in there,” Mike says without looking up.

Harry thanks him before going into the garage; he can hear someone cursing under their breath from underneath a small blue car. He kneels down, seeing where Louis’ feet are sticking out from where he’s working, back on the floor.

There’s a few oil stains on the ground, marks on Louis’ shoes but Harry waits. Waits until Louis pushes himself out from the car, his eyes widening in confusion when he sees Harry in front of him. 

“You know I don’t normally sit outside your room waiting for you to wake up,” Louis comments, pushing himself up with his hands where he goes to put the tool back into the toolbox.

“You’d probably miss a full day’s work if you did,” Harry replies.

Louis winks at him. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, looking over a sheet of paper when Harry comes up behind him. “Got any plans after work?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the back of Louis’ neck when he does.

“Yeah, actually. Got a night babysitting and probably listening to my boyfriend talk my ear off over the phone —”

“Boyfriend?” Harry asks, suddenly curious. He feels Louis tense where he’s got his hands presently on his waist.

“Er, something like that, I guess. I don’t know. Either way. It’s going to be a good night, I reckon,” Louis says, his cheeks flushing from where Harry can see them.

“Hmm,” Harry hums, now moving his lips to a spot just below Louis’ ear. “Because I was thinking something else, actually.”

Louis’ eyebrows raise. “Were you?”

“I had this idea that my boyfriend, having the weekend off, wouldn’t mind spending said weekend with me at my parents’ cottage?”

“Jesus fuck,” Louis breathes, “you have a cottage?”

Harry shakes his head, pouting a little toward him in response. “Not the point, Louis,” he admonishes. 

“I don’t have the weekend off though, I’m working Saturday —”

“You’re not, actually. Niall’s taking your shifts,” Harry replies, making small circles on Louis’ hips.

Harry smiles into his skin hearing Louis make a small noise in response, now turning to face him when he shakes his head. “Taking the weekend off to spend with you? And I don’t even like you that much —” Louis starts but is cut off when Harry kisses him, despite the sounds of protest in response when Louis laughs, quietly.

“You can’t resist me,” Harry says assuredly. 

“We’ll see about that,” Louis replies, but kisses his cheek after he does.

“I guess I just have to win you over with my mix tapes…” Harry starts, waiting for him to clean off his hands and get his things together before they can leave.

When Louis is ready to go, Mike gives him firm instructions to not return until his shift on Monday, to which he agrees after a bit of convincing. They walk out to Harry’s car, not answering any of Louis’ questions when they get in.

“It’s a three hour drive so, get comfortable,” Harry tells him. Louis groans.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Louis whines.

Harry ignores him, instead turning up the radio when he takes out his driving instructions.

— 

If there’s one thing Harry cannot stand, it’s back seat drivers. Though he supposes with Louis in the front seat the back seat driver still applies for most of the drive. He spends a good portion of it telling Harry that he’s driving too fast or too slow, that his turns are too sharp and he doesn’t pay enough attention to the road.

“You know,” Harry comments when they finally get there, opening the doors. “I think next time you should drive home.”

Louis doesn’t reply, instead gives a satisfied look when Harry rolls his eyes. He opens the trunk, taking their bags when he makes his way to the front door.

“So this is a cottage?” Louis asks, sounding weirdly nervous.

“C’mon,” Harry says gently, nudging Louis with his shoulder when he opens the door.

The last time he was here was with his parents was two summers ago, just before Gemma went off to school. Though mostly he remembers breaking his arm after a particularly awful accident involving a swing that ended up with them spending a number of hours in the hospital. Since then none of them have been back, really.

Though it looks just as they’d left it, everything in order when he hears Louis follow behind him. He pauses for a moment, noticing a picture frame on the small table near the door as he stares at it.

“You okay?” Louis asks quietly.

“Fine,” Harry says in response, walking further inside. 

It isn’t massively huge, two bedrooms and one bathroom where he puts his bag down onto the bed in one of the rooms. He looks to Louis who’s standing in the doorway, looking a little uncomfortable as he shifts.

“I don’t know if you want me in here or —”

“Here,” Harry tells him. “Unless you want to sleep in the other room?”

Louis shakes his head. “No, here’s fine.”

And that settles it, then.

— 

After nearly burning down the entire kitchen making dinner they watch a movie for a little while later in the living room, Louis curled up next to Harry where they’re sitting on the couch. And for a moment he thinks, maybe, of kissing him. But they haven’t really kissed since Louis’ car on their first date or, more so they haven’t kissed for an extended period of time since then.

So instead he sits with an arm around Louis’ shoulders, watching his lips where they’re parted while he’s watching the screen intently. He should probably watch the movie as he leans back against the couch.

Louis doesn’t seem to notice, rather immersed with the film that Harry, admittedly, hasn’t been paying any attention to. When the movie ends Harry turns his head just a little, looking to see Louis leaning up to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“Probably tired after driving so much today…” Louis says slowly, trailing his fingertips along Harry’s arm. He shivers.

“Yeah,” Harry says slowly, distracted by how warm Louis’ skin feels against his own.

He should feel dead on his feet when he stands, moving to brush his teeth in the washroom where Louis stands beside him. The mirror is hardly big enough for the two of them, half of Harry’s face cut off when he puts a bit of toothpaste onto his brush.

When he’s done Louis is already on their bed, curled up on the left side nearest the wall when Harry glances toward him. 

“Do you need anything else? Blanket?” Harry offers. Louis shakes his head. “Alright, well. Goodnight,” he finishes quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of Louis’ head before going to turn out the bedside light.

It’s a little weird, mostly because he’s already half hard where he’s lying on the bed, feeling Louis next to him on the rather small bed which isn’t helping his situation any. If anything, it’s making his cock harder, the friction in his jeans making him nearly whine when he bites down on his lower lip. But he doesn’t move, not wanting to wake Louis and having to have the whole ‘hey sorry I woke you because my cock is really fucking hard because of you’ conversation. So he shifts, just a little, his hand hovering over his track pants as he takes in a slow, deep breath. 

He’s mostly sure Louis is asleep until he feels a small shift beside him. 

“You still awake?” Louis asks.

Harry makes a sound that tries to sound like a yes, but it’s mostly high pitched because he’s already got his hand on his cock when he hears Louis breathe out a small “oh”. Not that hard to figure out, Harry thinks to himself.

He sits up, opening his mouth to make some excuse but then he feels Louis’ breath on his face, warm and coming out in small puffs. Harry can hardly make out his features in the darkness of the bedroom. And that’s when Louis kisses him, a mixture of fear, heat and the unknown, his lips warm and welcome against Harry’s.

It’s different than how they’ve kissed before, now with intent and purpose when Louis brings a hand to gently cup his cheek. Harry licks into his mouth, still trying to keep his hand on his cock when Louis bites down on his lower lip.

“Louis —” Harry starts, but he’s cut off when he feels another hand on his pants and fuck, he’s not breathing.

“I want —” Louis starts, breathing uneven, “you.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, hoping the way he presses his lips back against Louis’ is answer enough — nearly whimpering when he feels Louis’ hand press against his cock again, palming him through the fabric of his pants.

This is no small thing, the way Louis begins tugging at the hem of Harry’s shirt. It’s dark and they’re a bit clumsy, nearly bumping heads when Louis tries to get his pants off and Harry’s still working off his shirt. But they move past it, Harry pressing a small line of kisses on Louis’ collarbone, sucking along the skin as he goes.

“Do you —” Harry starts, trying to find the words in his hazy state of mind. “I mean, I brought —”

“Yeah,” Louis answers, sounding nearly wrecked as it is and fuck if that doesn’t somehow make Harry harder.

He wastes no time going to the bag he’d left by the bedroom door, Louis turning on the bedside light when he opens up the front pocket. “Came prepared?” Louis teases in all his naked glory on the bed, watching Harry.

“Just in case,” Harry says, cheeks flushed when he comes back onto the bed.

He reads the back of the lube bottle because it’s been a while, opening up a condom when he glances up toward Louis. 

But Louis is already staring at him, cheeks flushed and looking nervous. “You alright?” Harry asks, running a thumb along his jawline.

“Nervous, I guess,” Louis replies. Harry nods.

“I’ll go easy on you,” Harry promises with a wink.

Louis snorts, swatting at his arm lightly. “You dick.”

Harry just grins, kissing him once more when he takes off the cap on the lube. He makes sure to get his fingers covered as he takes in a slow, deep breath, trying to steady himself. It takes him a minute to get used to the image of Louis breathing heavily, watching his every move and looking beautiful and vulnerable all at once, hands bunched up with a tight grip on the bedsheets. Harry kisses him again, trying to distract the two of them when he presses his first finger in.

Louis lets out a small noise but doesn’t tell him to stop when Harry starts moving it around slowly, carefully, not wanting to hurt him too much when he does so. Trying to get him used to it, somehow. 

He’s fucking tight, is the thing, Harry thinks as he moves his finger around a bit, giving Louis time to adjust. There’s a line across Louis’ forehead as he tries to kiss it away, his lips lingering on the skin for a few moments. “Alright?” Harry asks, voice hushed.

Louis nods, swallowing when Harry slides his second finger in. He gets a reaction then, Louis squirming beneath his touch but doesn’t tell him to stop. Instead he gets a hand behind Harry’s neck, pulling him down so they’re kissing again — a messy meeting of mouths and tongue but neither of them seem to mind. Harry stretches his fingers apart, Louis’ legs around his waist, as if trying to anchor himself.

By the time he’s got his third finger in Louis lets out a whine, moving a little at the contact. He looks nearly spent as it is, hair matted to his forehead when Harry presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“Fuck. Harry —” Louis breathes, his voice cracking.

“Alright?” Harry asks.

“Are you gonna get on with it or what?” Louis huffs though he hardly sounds annoyed.

“Wanted to make a show of it,” Harry replies, not bothering to listen for Louis’ response when he does.

It’s different with Louis, somehow. He hasn’t done this loads of times, or anything, but each time he touches Louis — even now, in this small cottage on the beach, — it somehow feels like the first time. As if he’s learning it all again.

He takes his fingers out of Louis, taking a moment to prepare himself as he unwraps the condom and tries to roll it on. It’s proving a little difficult due to the amount of lube on his fingers, not able to get a good enough grip as he fumbles a bit, swearing under his breath. But then Louis is there, taking the condom from his hands where he starts to roll it on for him — hands shaking and his face pinched in a look of concentration. Harry watches, biting on his bottom lip but Louis doesn’t seem to take notice, intently focused on Harry’s dick.

Which, sure. That’s something he could get used to.

“Louis —” Harry begins, tilting his chin to look at him when he’s finished. 

“Harry,” Louis says, sounding a little anxious.

“Are you sure about this?” Harry asks, watching him closely.

Louis rolls his eyes like some fucking thirteen year old when he nods. “Just stick it in,” he instructs, “I think we’ve put it off long enough.”

Harry laughs, shaking his entire body because he can’t helping himself before leaning forward and pressing a kiss between Louis’ shoulder blades apologetically. 

“I don’t see what’s funny,” Louis says.

Harry doesn’t say anything in response, instead pushing into him and that shuts Louis up rather well. Harry moves slowly where he’s got his hands braced against the mattress next to Louis’ head to keep himself steady. 

Louis is really tight, tighter than anyone Harry’s ever been with, and it’s distracting. His orgasm is already starting to grow in the pit of his stomach, warm and coiling when he pulls out slowly, and he figures he can blame that for it. He doesn’t ask when he presses in for a second time; he figures Louis would have protested by now, head bowed as he presses a kiss to Louis’ skin briefly. 

The room is still dark when he reaches to take hold of Louis’ cock, precome already leaking out of the tip of it as he slowly picks up his rhythm, pressing back into him. 

Louis whines quietly, telling him to keep going and Harry does until he comes, a warmth spreading through him as he bites down onto his lower lip, breaking a bit of skin as he tastes a little blood. He continues to thrust through when he feels Louis clench around him, letting out a small cry before he comes onto his chest. Harry shudders, closing his eyes when he pulls out, falling beside Louis on the bed.

After he’s come down a bit Harry takes off the condom, not bothering to look when he tosses it over the edge of the bed. Louis is breathing heavily beside him, lips attached to Harry’s neck where he’s lightly biting down on the skin

Louis curls up beside him, skin warm and damp and Harry’s having trouble keeping his eyes open when he slowly starts to drift off. He hears Louis say something, though he can’t quite make it out before his eyes close, feeling Louis breathing steadily against him with the rise and fall of his chest.

— 

Harry has never considered himself up for the whole ‘summer romance’ cliche, not that what he and Louis has is a romance. It’s hardly that; it’s mostly just — them, spending any minute they can together when Louis isn’t working and Harry isn’t helping his mother get ready for this party.

“I feel like I hardly see you anymore,” Anne told him the other night at dinner when he’d gotten home from his little ‘weekend get away’, giving him a sad smile where she sat across from him.

And maybe that’s true. But Harry doesn’t want to spend his summer with his parents in that large house, doesn’t want to spend his evenings and weekends arguing with his father when he gets home from work. He’d much rather get into his car and pick up Louis from work and drive until they get bored, or until one of them gets hungry.

Louis keeps his feet on the dash and he has a bad habit of changing the radio station in the middle of a song. But Harry doesn’t care all that much, not usually, except when they’re in an empty car park where Louis is trying to teach him how to drive stick.

“This is stupid,” Harry pouts, annoyed from the driver’s seat.

“It’s really not,” Louis says, taking his hand and putting it back onto the console. “You just need to do what I told you.”

Harry turns to look at him, unimpressed. “I am listening, what do you I think I am? An idiot who thinks he can just learn this on his own?”

“I didn’t say that, Jesus, will you just —” Louis starts but Harry lets his foot off the brake for a moment, the car jerking forward as they both let out a small yell.

“Sorry,” Harry says apologetically, “didn’t think it was going to do that,” he says sheepishly.

“Just — release the clutch when I tell you, okay?” Louis instructs, hand on top of Harry’s.

“Can’t I just suck you off instead?” Harry whines.

“Later, if you’d like. But right now, you need to focus,” Louis replies.

Harry groans, leaning his forehead against the steering wheel. They’ve got an hour until they’re both due back at Harry’s house for dinner with his parents. An extended invitation courtesy of his mother. 

So he takes hold of the clutch, curling his fingers around it and if he didn’t know any better he could’ve sworn Louis took in a sharp intake of breath when he does as he pushes down on the gas.

“Okay, good, good baby, now just ease up —” Louis starts but Harry fucks something up again because they jerk forward once more, both of them letting out a sound of surprise.

“Why didn’t you tell me to let go?” Harry asks, a mixture of angry and also enjoying the look of frustration on Louis’ face.

“I did — oh my God, I told you to ease up and you just pressed down onto the gas like a fucking lunatic —”

“Oh, _I’m_ the lunatic? Nice, Lou, really, that’s lovely you’re such an encouraging teacher —” 

“Well, maybe if you actually _listened_ to what I’m saying we wouldn’t be screaming at each other in this fucking car —”

“We are not screaming, we having an adult discussion about this —”

“Harry, I swear to God if you even think that I’m going —”

But Louis is cut off mid sentence when Harry surges forward, crushing their faces together in a haphazard, sloppy kiss. There’s a distinct sucking sound when Louis tries to regain himself, clutching at the fabric of Harry’s shirt where he’s being pressed up against the window. It’s a good thing the car park is empty because the noise Harry makes when Louis bites down on his lower lip is something a little short of obscene. 

It’s awkward because he’s got a clutch pressing into his hip but Harry doesn’t even really care all that much, far too preoccupied with the way Louis moves his hips upwards when he presses his hand to the crotch of Louis’ jeans. He’s already pretty hard, nearly whimpering under Harry’s touch as he pulls back, breathing heavily.

“We can’t — do this right now, we have dinner and I’m wearing my good trousers —” Louis says, breathless, as Harry shakes his head.

“You can get other ones from your flat on the way,” he proposes but Louis shakes his head firmly.

“No, no, we need to go,” Louis says, laughing when Harry presses kisses along the side of his neck, sucking briefly on his skin, “I mean it, Harry, we can’t be late —”

“You drive,” Harry says, handing him the keys. “And I’ll take care of the rest, yeah?”

Louis gives him a skeptical look before opening the door, Harry doing the same as he gets into the front seat. They don’t say anything as the car starts and Louis leaves the radio on, not bothering to change the station as he keeps his eyes focused ahead, putting his aviators over his eyes.

Harry grins, palming his cock and the car jerks forward, just a little. He gives Louis a look but he doesn’t say anything, still staring out the front window. It takes a moment to get the button of Louis’ jeans undone, tugging a little at the zipper. 

“Harry —” Louis starts but cuts himself off when Harry gets his hand around his cock, stroking at the head of it.

Harry hums, running his tongue along Louis’ cock as they swerve a little to the left, though it’s hardly noticeable. “Doing alright there?” he asks.

“Just fine, you dick.” Louis replies, his voice trembling just slightly.

He has to reposition himself, moving a little to avoid the clutch and find a way to get his mouth around Louis’ dick. It takes a moment but he finally gets it, sucking at the tip when he feels Louis shudder noticeably in response. 

Harry smiles, perhaps a little too smug with his lips around Louis’ cock as he takes him in. He can’t do all of him due to the small amount of space but enough to get Louis bucking his hips upwards and into his mouth. Harry chokes a little, wiping his mouth as he licks at a bit of the precome spilling from the head.

When he takes Louis in again they’re nearly at his house, though with the way Louis is nearly writhing in his seat Harry thinks he’s going to come at any moment. So he bobs his head, moving up and down until Louis’ knuckles turn a noticeable white where he’s got his hands wrapped around the steering wheel.

“Harry —” Louis warns, briefly tugging on his hair before he comes but Harry doesn’t move from around Louis, feels him hit the back of his throat. 

The car stops in the driveway to his flat as Harry grins up at him. Louis is a little breathless, leaning his head back against the seat as he closes his eyes briefly. 

“See? Didn’t I tell you you’d like it?” Harry asks.

“Fuck off,” Louis replies but he’s smiling when he takes a few minutes to come back down. They've now got about fifteen minutes to make it to Harry’s without being late for dinner. “I — shit. I’m going to go get some new trousers and I’ll be right back —”

Harry watches him go, leaning against his seat comfortably. It’s less than a few minutes until Louis is back in the car, pulling out of the driveway as he notices Niall waving from the window. Harry laughs, waving back as he glances over towards Louis. He’s nervous, said he was nervous when Harry’s mother had invited him in the first place.

When they pull up into the front garden Louis blinks, glancing up the overly large house. “Holy shit,” he breathes, immediately looking down at his outfit before adding, “I’m not going.”

“You said you’d come. Can’t let Anne down now, can we?” Harry says, as cheerfully as he can muster while tugging on Louis’ wrist. 

“You call your mother Anne? What is wrong with you —” Louis starts, getting out of the car as he continues to stare at the house.

“It’s not that great, promise,” Harry tells him gently.

Louis swallows, glancing at their hands briefly when Harry gently wraps his pinky around his own. They walk up the front steps without another word, their hands behind Harry’s back as he opens the front door. 

“We’re here,” Harry greets no one in the front foyer, taking off his shoes as Louis does the same. 

“In the kitchen!” his mother calls in response. 

Louis follows Harry as they make their way into the kitchen. She’s nearly finished setting the table, a bright smile on her face as she kisses Harry’s cheek, hugging him before turning to Louis. The nice thing about his mother, Harry thinks, is that she’s an immediate warm presence, inviting and welcoming all in one. 

“Mum, this is Louis. Louis, this is my mum, Anne,” he introduces and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say she was tearing up. 

“Lovely to meet you,” Louis says, extending a hand as she shakes her head.

“Oh no, come here,” she says, swatting his hand away gently and pulling him into a hug. Harry smiles, laughing into the back of his hand as Anne turns to him, giving him a look. “Call me Anne, can you do that?”

Louis nods, already seeming more relaxed as he folds his hands together behind his back. 

His father comes home a little past six, putting his things into the office before coming to sit at the table. Louis looks at Harry briefly from beside him but Harry shakes his head, pressing his thumb into Louis’ thigh. 

His dad is hardly scary, if anything.

They talk about their day, going down the table until they reach his father. He’s chewing on a bit of his steak, wiping the corner of his mouth before asking, “so, Louis. What do you do?”

Anne gives him a look but he doesn’t look away from Louis. “I work at Mike’s Mechanic with my friend, Niall,” Louis replies, his voice a lot calmer than what Harry had been expecting.

“What sort of hours do you get there?” his dad asks, cutting into another portion of his steak.

“Full-time hours usually. So almost forty hours a week?” Louis says.

His father’s eyebrows raised in what looks to be an impressed expression, but Harry knows otherwise. He’s been living in this house too long to know when he’s being sincere and just a plain asshole.

“Louis tried teaching me to drive stick today,” Harry interjects, putting a scoop of cooked carrots onto his plate.

“Tried being the keyword,” Louis adds.

“Harry, I was in the middle of a conversation —”

“No, you weren’t,” Harry cuts him off, shaking his head. “You were trying to find a way to embarrass him. Be a dick about his job, or something.”

Anne shifts uncomfortably in her seat, asking about dessert when his father puts down his cup, nearly breaking it by the force which he all but slams it onto the table with.

“I don’t know where you got it into your head that I think I’m better than your friends, but I don’t. I’m trying to get to know this boy you spend every moment seeing,” his father replies, his voice raising.

Harry smirks, laughing into his napkin. “Sure, right, sorry. I should’ve just assumed.”

“You can’t talk to me that way.”

“Think I just did, so.”

He half expects him to flip over the table and yell a string of curse words but instead he turns to Louis. “I might as well just get it over with and ask what your intentions are for my son?”

Louis chokes on his water and Anne makes a noise of protest, “Doug, you can’t just —”

“Intentions?” Louis repeats, slightly horrified.

“Oh my God —” Harry adds, but his father shakes his head.

“Well? Are you going to answer my question, Louis?”

Anne gives him a look but that doesn’t seem to deter him any. “Well, I don’t — I don’t know, exactly? We haven’t really, discussed it and I don’t —”

His father keeps a stern face, nodding slowly.

“Louis, my son has goals he wants to achieve,” his dad says, “and I don’t think you distracting him from those goals is a good idea.”

Louis shifts in his seat. “I didn’t, I mean I don’t —”

“Have I made myself clear?”

“You’re such a fucking dick,” Harry blurts out, slowly standing. 

“Harry, watch your mouth,” his mother says first, but his father doesn’t move.

“If you weren’t going to protect your future, I’m going to,” he says simply and Harry laughs.

“Well, you can fuck off, is what you can do,” Harry snaps, not bothering to take his plate to the counter when he hears his father stand from the table.

Louis is at his side, a confused and worried expression on his face but Harry shakes his head. H nods because he knows, taking the keys from his pocket as they hurry to get their shoes on. “We’ve not finished this conversation,” his father says, rounding the corner out of the kitchen.

“Actually, I think we have.”

He takes Louis’ hand before walking out the front door, closing it behind them as they walk down the steps. Harry can feel Louis trembling a little, shaking in the now cooler summer night air when they get into his car.

“Where do you wanna go?” Louis asks, his father’s shouts muffled by the closed door.

“Just drive,” is all Harry says.

So Louis does just that.

—

They park at the edge of town, looking out across the buildings and lights. Harry sighs, leaning back. Neither of them have said anything, mostly sitting in the silence and Harry wondering if that entire dinner had actually happened, or if he had somehow made it up. 

He needs to go home at some point and face his parents, who are no doubt going to be upset with him. But right now he’s going to stay in the back seat of Louis’ car, Louis pressed against their chest as he feels the inhale, exhale coming from his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Harry finally says quietly, pressing a kiss to the shell of Louis’ ear. 

Louis doesn’t respond for a moment, playing with Harry’s fingers that are across his chest. 

“Nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t know he was going to do that,” Louis says, his voice matching Harry’s hushed tone.

“I could’ve guessed he was going to do that,” Harry replies. Louis shrugs.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Louis says.

Harry nods, watching as he shifts between his legs so Louis is facing him now. His touch is soft as he presses his fingertips to his cheeks, leaning his forehead against Harry’s. 

“Louis —” Harry starts, knowing what he wants to say. Something like _I love you_. Louis stares at him for a moment. 

But Louis seems to already have an idea, shaking his head as he presses a finger to his lips. “Don’t,” he says.

Harry nods, swallowing when Louis kisses him gently. His lips are soft and warm as Harry presses back against them, pushing a hand through Louis’ hair in a slow, careful motion. Everything feels on edge after dinner, weighted and heavy and Harry’s tired, so tired as he runs a hand along Louis’ arm. 

Maybe it’s not love, maybe it’s just him thinking that it’s love. But it’s not like he spends this much time with anyone else, and he can’t really imagine himself spending this much time with anyone else, really. Just Louis. But right now, in the quiet and stillness of the night it would fit so well, if he just said it. Then he could know he said it to someone and know he truly meant it.

Neither of them say much else, exchanging soft kisses before falling asleep in the backseat of Louis’ car, Harry’s arm wrapped around his waist and holding Louis against his chest.

— 

“So.”

Harry’s sitting across from Zayn at his family’s dining room table, a deck of cards between them. It’s a little past two in the afternoon, the house quiet save for Zayn’s incoherent mumbling everytime he loses a round.

“So what?” Zayn replies, not looking up from his hand.

“So. You and Niall.”

“What about me and Niall.”

“What are you guys gonna do when, you know. You go off to school,” Harry says, tugging on the end of the table cloth.

“My uni’s only an hour away,” Zayn says with a shrug, “so it’s not like a lot is going to change, really.”

“Sure, yeah.” Harry says finally.

He had half expected Zayn to tell him that they weren’t going to do anything because they haven’t talked about it. Possibly for some sort of weird affirmation since him and Louis haven’t had that conversation, haven’t had any sort of real talk about the two of them. The time never seemed right and neither of them have really made any sort of effort to bring it up so the conversation hasn’t happened.

“What about you and Louis?” Zayn asks when a few minutes have passed between them. 

“Dunno,” is all Harry says.

He loses the next three rounds. He tries not to read into it.

—

The only thing that makes the annual Styles House Party is his mum’s raspberry tarts. And without fail, every year, they’re worth the wait. 

There’s open bottles of wine and people walking around the back garden, the tent he and Gemma spent a good hour and a half setting up looking as though it might blow over at any second. Inside the kitchen is ready to go, plates of food set up with the door set up leading out onto the patio. 

“How are you doing, Harry?”, “I heard you’re going to university? Going to be a businessman like your father?”, “What are your plans?” and his favourite, “Are you seeing anyone? I have a daughter who would be absolutely smitten with you.”

It’s usually the same conversation, Harry sipping on his coke but mostly rum, all smiles and charming conversation. Just like he was taught growing up, his father showing him the proper way to go about things. Always needing to carry yourself a certain way, showing them confidence and charm all at once.

Or something, he can’t really remember.

Though since their little blow out a few weeks ago him and his father haven’t talked much, haven’t seen a lot of each other. But that’s mostly because Harry’s hardly ever home, either with Louis or with Zayn or Zayn and Niall which has become quite the ‘thing’ apparently. 

“I always somehow forget that all of mum and dads friends are assholes,” Gemma says when she comes to stand beside him, sipping on a glass of wine. 

Harry smirks, nudging her with his hip. “How are they taking to Brian?” he asks.

“A young man wanting to become a doctor? They love him. Mrs. Greene pinched his ass. Twice.” Gemma says, rolling her eyes. Harry grins.

“He does look good in those trousers…” Harry says, Gemma slapping his arm lightly.

“Don’t be weird, Harry,” she says. “Besides. Don’t you have your handsome little friend coming?”

“He’s getting off work late. Probably gonna come by after,” Harry says.

Gemma gives him a look, an eyebrow raised but she doesn’t comment further. “Have you talked to dad?” she asks instead.

“No. It’s been nice, though. Quieter around the house.”

“You know mum hates it when you two fight,” Gemma replies, picking up a piece of cheese from a platter.

“When aren’t we fighting?” Harry asks.

“That’s fair, I guess,” Gemma says with a sigh, “gotta save Brian, though. He’s been cornered by Ms. Fairweather again.”

“Go on then,” Harry motions with his hand, finishing off the last of his drink.

And maybe he wouldn’t be so stressed if it weren’t for school next year, so he could find some reason to enjoy this stupid party. He’s hardly packed, hardly thought about school at all. Maybe his dad was right, maybe he is distracted.

Louis is a good distraction though, at any rate.

He’s considered becoming a lawyer. Maybe a sociologist? Or something with english. He hasn’t a fucking clue, honestly. But to save face in front of all his parents horrible friends he’s gone with lawyer because that’s the safest option at least.

It also doesn’t help that Zayn already knows what he wants to do, for the most part. Become a tattoo artist, which makes it easier that he’s gotten an internship or job at the local tattoo shop near his house this summer. He’s got it all planned out while Harry’s just sitting around, with no fucking clue what he’s even doing.

“Am I late?”

He turns and finds Louis in the doorway leading out to the porch, looking, well. Less like a mechanic and more like a fucking model really.

Harry holds out a hand, feeling Louis take it into his own as he hands him a small plate. “Perfectly on time, actually. Hungry?”

“Fucking starving. Niall ate my lunch again,” Louis says, beginning to make a small pile of food on it.

“Could always eat his lunch next time, you know,” Harry suggests, gripping Louis’ hand lightly when he does.

“If I wanted to die, yeah sure. That’s a great plan,” Louis replies, but he’s smiling too. “How’s the party been? What did I miss?”

“Loads,” Harry replies, turning to look over his shoulder at the small crowd still in his backyard. “Mrs. Greene and Ms. Fairweather have been hitting on my sister’s boyfriend all last night and apparently —” he ducks his head lower so he can whisper in Louis’ ear, “Mrs. Thompson had an affair with her boss, so they had a spat by the pool.”

Louis shivers noticeably when Harry leans in closer, nodding. “I missed all the good stuff. I knew I would,” he says, trying to sound disappointed. 

Harry laughs a little, burying his face into Louis’ neck for a moment. They sit down on a small table near the edge of the patio, Harry handing him his fresh cup of rum and a little bit of coke. Louis takes a sip before coughing into his elbow, wincing as he looks at Harry.

“What?” Harry asks.

“Jesus Christ, H. Have you ever heard of a thing called Rum _and_ Coke?” Louis says, shaking his head. “You’re finishing that on your own.”

Harry’s about to argue but then he feels a hand on his shoulder. He nearly groans into Louis’ neck before pulling back to get a proper look at whoever it is. 

“Mrs. Archer — how are you?” Harry asks as he stands, giving her a hug as she smiles up at him. 

Briefly she pinches his cheeks before, “you just never seem to stop growing. Everytime I see you it’s like you’ve grown a foot more,” she says, shaking her head. “But those dimples always stay the same.”

“Mum says they give me a youthful look,” Harry says, hearing her laugh in response.

“Who’s this young fellow then? A friend of yours?” she asks, turning to look at Louis.

“Louis,” he introduces, shaking her hand briefly. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same to you,” she says, winking at him. Louis coughs into his hand awkwardly.

“Louis and I have been dating all summer,” Harry says, watching the way Mrs. Archer’s eyes widen in response. “He works at the mechanic shop on Maine.”

Mrs. Archer looks between them, a mixture of appalled and shocked as she nods, slowly. “That’s wonderful, dear. I should go though, I see Mrs. Cook over there and I’d love to have a word with her. Good luck with school!” she says before giving a final wave, walking over to Mrs. Cook and his mother where they’re standing near the pool.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Louis hisses, pulling on the sleeve of Harry’s shirt aggressively. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

Harry looks at him, confused. “I thought you’d be alright with this...” he says slowly.

“I’m not a complete idiot,” Louis says quickly. He’s angry. Harry can tell by the way his lips pull together in a thin line. “I know why you’re doing this.”

“What are you —”

“I didn’t come here to be paraded around as some kind of trophy for rebelling against your parents. I came here because it’s your mum’s party and you invited me. But this? I didn’t come for this.” Louis says, leaving his plate and taking his jacket off the back of his chair.

“You can’t leave, you just got here —” Harry says, following after him.

“I have to go anyway. Gotta babysit for my mum,” Louis tells him, not looking up from where he’s putting his arms into the sleeve of his coat. 

And it seems Louis has his mind made up, already out the door as Harry still follows behind him. “Louis, c’mon it’s not like that,” he urges, tugging on his elbow.

“I’m late,” Louis snaps, releasing his arm from Harry’s touch. “I’ll see you later, I guess.”

“Yeah, I’ll — I’ll call you,” Harry says, shoulders slumped as he watches Louis get into the car.

And now, he thinks as he watches Louis drive off, is probably an inopportune time to realise just how in love he might actually be.

—

His mother’s cried a grand total of five times today and he doesn’t even leave until tomorrow. But Harry knew that was coming, she used to get teary eyed at the mention of university. 

Right now he’s sitting on the stairwell leading into the front room, looking at where his bags are set in front of the door. Harry swallows, taking in a deep breath. He’s leaving in the morning, a little before eight with all his stuff in tow. It feels weird though, knowing that this time tomorrow he’ll no longer be in this house. Instead he’ll be in a dorm room with someone he doesn’t know, unpacking his things and starting school in less than a week.

It’s a bit much, to be honest. Zayn already left yesterday, Harry stopping by last night where they sat on his bed till around two in the morning, or some time, he doesn’t really remember. So far he’s gotten a few texts telling him that his roommate is a bit of a talker, which made Harry laugh, only imagining the short answers and grunts he’d give them in response.

And maybe he should’ve roomed with Zayn, like they’d always said they wanted to do. Maybe he should’ve done that instead of fucking off to London to a school where he knows virtually no one except for his admissions counsellor. 

“Ready to go?” Anne asks, looking at him from the doorway into the kitchen.

Harry smiles, forced. “Almost, I think.”

“Well, if you have any last minute things to do you should do them now while you still have time,” she says finally.

And Harry knows what she’s really saying, watching her wipe her hands in the small towel she’s holding. He nods, slowly standing as he takes his keys from his pocket. He doesn’t say anything else, just gives his mum a quick kiss on the cheek before going into his car.

The roads are quiet, the sun starting to set where he’s looking out the windshield, hands holding the steering wheel steady. He turns down the familiar street leading onto Maine, stopping at a stop sign as he waits to turn.

Mike’s Mechanic’s sign greets him as he pulls into the car park. He spots Louis’ truck at the end of the parking spaces. Harry gets out, closing the door behind him and feeling oddly reminiscent when he pushes open the door. They’re closed, what with it being almost half past seven. He stands in the waiting area. Louis always does that though, forgets to lock the door.

Harry knocks on the small window looking into the garage. It takes a moment but he finally sees movement under the red minivan, Louis coming into sight as he looks at Harry for a few seconds.

The time it takes Louis to walk to the door feels almost like an eternity when he finally opens it, giving Harry room to step inside. It smells like gas and old rubber, a mixture of stale cologne and oil as he takes in a deep breath.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Harry finally says, breaking the silence.

Louis nods, licking his lips as he wipes his hand on a rag from the pocket of his jeans. “All packed?” he asks, voice low.

“Pretty much. Mum won’t stop crying though. She might not let me leave tomorrow,” Harry replies.

He watches as Louis smiles, though it isn’t noticeable when he shakes his head. “So you came to say goodbye?”

“Something like that,” Harry says.

There’s a number of things he could say, standing here. But he doesn’t say any of them, instead reaching out to tug on Louis’ wrist. There’s no resistance like Harry had been expecting there would be, Louis coming easily as he takes a step towards him. 

Harry presses his forehead against Louis’, pressing gentle circles into his hips where he’s leaning against the wall. Louis’ breath is warm against his cheeks, Harry leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. 

“Bye, Harry,” Louis says quietly after a moment.

“Bye, Louis,” Harry replies, voice slow when he presses a final, quick kiss to his cheek.

It might have been Harry’s imagination but when he finally drives away and the windshield is blurring, he sees Louis standing there, watching him go.

 

_Four Years Later._

The thing about Holmes Chapel is, it never changes. It almost feels like he’s somehow stepped into some sort of time capsule, the streets not changing as Harry glances down towards the train station. Still the same old brick, the same signs. It’s all the same.

He might regret moving back a little, he thinks, taking his bag over his shoulder when he starts off towards the car park. For the time being he’s got a rental car, no need for the one he’d left at home all his years in London. There it was just go go go on the tube or walking down the busy streets, no need for a car really.

But in a small town where the snow is starting to fall in the cold, late November air, he’s going to need a car. He approaches the counter, taking the keys and form as he makes his way outside. One of the first things he needs to do is get a flat, the second a car, and the third a job. Not the most extensive list but they’re all things he needs to get in order.

There’s a text from his mum telling him the room is ready for him as Harry puts his phone into his cup holder, rubbing a hand along his face. The radio is playing something he doesn’t know, hand on the steering wheel as he drives down the quiet streets. Downtown is just dusted with snow, people walking around with shopping bags as Harry takes in a deep breath. It’s almost like he never left, like the past four years he’d been living out haven’t actually happened, somehow.

When he reaches a side street Harry parks his car, putting some money into the meter as he pulls his jacket closer around his body. There’s a bit of salt from the street already discolouring his boots as he shoves his hands into his pockets, checking the time.

2:47 pm.

He should get a coffee. Something to eat. He hasn’t eaten since he left, which was around five this morning. There’s a coffee shop just to his left as he opens the door, no line as he goes up to the counter.

The lady rings him in for a small latte with a extra shot of espresso and a pumpkin muffin, Harry accepting it as he waits for his drink to be made. He glances around the cafe, looking at the few people sitting throughout until —

Louis.

Harry freezes, taking his cup as he stares for about half a minute. He knows it’s Louis because of the way his small frame is hunched over, pen in hand where he’s working on the Saturday crossword puzzle. Louis loved those, did them every weekend and neglected Harry, as he liked to whine. His hair is darker; longer, twisting around the nape of his neck and he’s wearing an overly large jumper, elbow patches and dark red. Harry blinks.

“Sir? Your drink?” the lady pulls him out of his thoughts as Harry tries to snap himself out of it, thanking her as he takes the cup from her hand.

Louis didn’t see him come in, so he’s got an easy way out. But Harry stares for a little while longer because he’s just. There. He’s still here, in Holmes Chapel. Harry had half expected him and Niall to move somewhere and do God knows what — start a strange adventure, just the two of them, because that made sense.

Apparently that didn’t happen, because he’s still here. Harry tries to steady himself, walking across the cafe as he goes to open the door. But that’s when Louis looks up, straight at him as Harry feels himself take in a sharp breath.

He doesn’t say anything. Louis doesn’t, either. Instead they stare at one another for a moment, Louis’ eyes wide as Harry waves, just a little. There isn’t a protocol for this sort of thing, he doesn’t know what the proper reaction is. So, he waves.

Louis doesn’t smile. Harry doesn’t reckon he’s smiling either, but he waves back nonetheless. Then he opens the door, not wanting to stand in the doorway for the rest of the afternoon as he makes his way outside.

A part of him wants to look back but Harry doesn’t, doesn’t let himself as he shivers in the cold air. 

“Fuck,” Harry breathes, leaning against the wall of the hardware shop next door, “fuck fuck fuck.”

It shouldn’t be that weird. It should be a little normal, maybe. But it sort of feels like his little world is crashing down, standing in the small street in Holmes Chapel. 

It’s just Louis, Harry tells himself. He wants to laugh. Just Louis, just Louis, _just Louis_. But it’s not. He continues walking along until he finds his car, getting inside as he leans his forehead against the steering wheel. Truthfully, he hadn’t even wondered if Louis was going to be in town. All he knew was that he was done school and needed some time to figure things out, and his mother had offered him his old bedroom.

That had been that, really.

Harry starts the car after a few minutes to fucking breathe, deciding that maybe he should go home and sleep. Possibly for the next week. 

It’s about five minutes from downtown and he nearly gets lost by the service station when he pulls into the driveway. Apparently his dad’s away on business, or something, Harry can’t remember what his mother had said over the phone. It wouldn’t be an issue if he was home, because him and Harry hardly talk as it is. But he’s missed his mum, so he’s most looking forward to that.

The few suitcases he packed are in the trunk and he leaves them there when he walks towards the front door. God, it’s like he’s eighteen again and without a fucking care in the world. But he’s taller now, with a little more hair and more things to worry about.

When he steps inside he can hear his mum humming with the radio from the kitchen. He smiles to himself, kicking off his boots. The front room’s been painted, Harry thinks as he hangs his coat up onto a small hook near the door. There’s a new table, a vase of fresh flowers there as he takes a few steps inside.

Still the same, though, Harry thinks with a small sense of relief.

“Mum?” Harry asks, looking where she’s kneading what looks to be dough or some kind.

Anne lets out a small noise of surprise, turning with the same wide smile on her face. “I thought your train didn’t come in until after dinner,” she says, walking towards him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Are you alright? Hungry? I’m just making some bread —”

“Got a muffin,” Harry says, holding up the bag. Anne frowns. “Not as good as yours though,” he adds with a kiss to her head.

He goes to sit on the small countertop looking over the kitchen, pulling up a stool as Anne hands him a plate for his muffin. Harry takes a sip of his latte, still warm when he starts picking at his food. 

“How was your trip? Are you tired?” Anne asks, putting something that looks to be a roast in the oven. Harry shakes his head, still smiling.

“It was fine. Long though. I always forget how long it is from London to here,” Harry comments, taking a small bite.

“Glad to have you home,” Anne says gently, squeezing his hand. “Was going a little nuts with your father gone, to be honest.”

“How long is he gone for?” Harry asks, curious.

Anne pauses, facing the oven so he can’t see her face clearly. But it looks like she’s frowning, a sad sort of expression pinched on her face. “Another two weeks,” she says finally.

Harry’s brows furrow. “I thought you said it was just a week?” he asks.

“Something came up, you know your father. Always working,” Anne says with a dismissive wave of her hand.

He doesn’t push the subject, yawning into the back of his hand as he finishes his drink. The muffin is only half eaten, mostly picked apart as Anne gives him a small smile.

“Alright if I go take a quick nap?” 

“Go get some sleep. I’ll wake you when dinner’s ready,” Anne says softly, kissing his cheek once more before he goes.

For a moment he listens from the stairwell where he can hear his mother crying, the sound slightly muffled before he makes his way upstairs to his room. 

—

“Jesus, Harry. How many tattoos do you got?” Zayn asks where they’re sitting in a small bar, nestled in a small booth.

“Just a few, calm down." Harry says but he’s laughing at the way Zayn’s gently poking at his arm, having already done so to the birds on his chest just a few moments ago.

“A few? This isn’t a few. This is a lot more than that,” Zayn says, eyebrows raised. “I like them though. Whoever you go to is good.”

“Glad you approve,” Harry jokes, tipping a bit of his drink into his mouth.

It’s his second night home, still with no job and no other plans. He called up Zayn, who apparently moved back to Holmes Chapel too. He insists he hasn’t stuck around for Niall but for his job, though Harry knows him better than that. He plays along anyway because it’s Zayn and he’ll tell Harry eventually.

“How’s home?” Zayn asks, peeling a bit of the label off his bottle.

Harry shrugs, leaning back. “Fine. Mum’s mostly just been in the kitchen a lot, has some time off work apparently,” he says simply.

“Your dad home?” 

“No, not for two weeks. Which is weird because my mum said he was only supposed to be gone one,” Harry replies.

Zayn looks at him for a moment before nodding, slowly. It looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t, seemingly stopping himself. “Did you ask her about it?”

Harry shakes his head.

They don’t push the topic any further, instead Harry asking Zayn about his job which he talks about for a while. He works for a guy named Ed, who owns the tattoo parlour he works at. But he’s happy, is what Harry notices first. The way he talks about work, his eyes wide and explaining things Harry hasn’t a clue about, it’s obvious he’s enjoying it.

“And Niall? How’s he?” Harry asks finally.

“Good. Really good. He’s still at the mechanic shop,” Zayn replies.

“Mike’s?” 

There’s a small pause which is — weird. “Yeah but it’s um, got a different name now,” Zayn says finally, not looking up from the table.

“What, did it get bought out by someone else?” Harry asks, mostly confused as to why his friend won’t look him in the eye anymore.

“Mike, he, um — well, he decided he didn’t want to do this anymore so he put it up for sale,” Zayn explains, picking at his nails while he talks now. “And so, someone bought it.”

“Who?” Another pause. Harry sighs. “Zayn, who was it?”

“Louis.” 

Harry blinks, the name hitting him with a lot more force than he’d been expecting. “Like, Louis Louis?” 

Zayn nods, giving something of a sympathetic look towards Harry. “Yeah. He had some saved up I guess, so him and Niall went for it. But Louis is the sole owner now, I think.”

“Wow,” Harry breathes, running a hand along his face. “That’s, great. Really great.”

“You alright?” Zayn asks, concern on his features.

“Fine. Just, you know. That’s a big thing,” Harry says. “I um, saw him the other day.”

“The other day,” Zayn repeats, deadpan. “You’ve been home two days, Harry.”

Harry picks at the small koster for his beer, taking the small of paper off the top. “Minor details,” he mutters. “I was just — getting a latte. And he was there. Doing a crossword.”

Zayn looks mildly uncomfortable, though he doesn’t comment on it. “Did you say anything?”

He snorts, staring at Zayn with a look of disbelief. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, hey Lou, long time no see since we spent an entire summer together making out, how are you? It’s been what, four years?’ I’m sure that would’ve gone over brilliantly.”

“Don’t be a dick,” Zayn snaps, tossing a crumpled napkin towards him. “What did you do?”

“I waved. Then left.” 

At this point Zayn’s got his forehead against the table, not moving. “If you two are going to live in the same town again you could at least try to not make it unbearably awkward for the rest of us,” he says, voice muffled.

Harry rolls his eyes, kicking at him from underneath the table. “A wave is polite,” he argues, pouting.

“You’re an idiot,” Zayn says instead.

Harry grins up at him from across the way. “Missed you too, you arsehole.”

—

The local school, according to his mother, is looking for help in the administrative office. So by some strings pulled by her, Harry somehow ends up with a job there, Monday to Friday, from eight in the morning till four in the afternoon.

If anything, it pays well.

When his alarm goes off at quarter past seven Harry groans, burying his face further into his pillow. Too early. Too early and he’d rather stay in bed, thank you very much.

That is, until he hears a voice from downstairs.

“Harry! It’s your first day! You can’t be late!” Anne all but yells.

And so to avoid being woken up in the worst way by the covers being thrown off of him, Harry slowly sits up as he rubs his eyes. It’s a little past seven thirty when he stands, stretching a bit before pulling a pair of jeans and button up shirt from his wardrobe. His eyes feel heavy when he makes his way downstairs, phone in his pocket as he takes a cup of coffee and piece of toast from the kitchen.

“Thanks, mum,” he says sleepily before kissing her head gently and makes his way out towards his car.

Having conveniently forgotten his directions in his room Harry spends a good extra five minutes driving around looking for the school, nearly calling his mum until he finally finds it. There’s already a number of cars in the car park when he picks a spot near the back. 

He didn’t go to this school though Zayn had, instead being put through some stuffy private school his father had insisted he attend. It’s quiet when he opens the door, the hallways not yet filled as he makes his way towards the front office.

It’s just like any other office job, really. There isn’t a lot out of the ordinary, Harry finds as he’s taken on a tour by one of the older ladies working in the office, Barbara. Though he’s pretty sure when she showed him the photocopier that was merely just an excuse to pinch his arse. Which, he’ll let slide. Just once, though.

Other than that it’s all a matter of routine and being able to use a stapler, really. He’s in charge of phones and appointments with the principal and guidance counselors, getting the daily newsletter ready to go at the end of the day and the mail sorted to be sent to the last class for each student to receive. So maybe a bit more than a little work, but still.

It’s completely manageable.

Save for the fact that it’s quiet, and it’s boring. Harry leans back in his office chair, taking in a deep breath where he’s presently staring at a draft for the newsletter he’s got to get done in about two hours. Easy.

Except he doesn’t know a fucking thing about newsletters or what they’re supposed to look like. He would go ask Barbara but he doesn’t want to get pinched again and Helena said she was taking her hour lunch break two hours ago so, there goes that idea.

“I’m um — checking in for class?” comes a voice when Harry looks up.

There’s a girl standing in front of the desk, folding and refolding a small paper in her hands as he smiles, a little. “What’s your name?” he asks, opening another document.

“Um, Lottie? Tomlinson?” she states. Harry stops breathing momentarily.

“I have a Charlotte Tomlinson? Says you had a dentist appointment?” Harry asks. She nods. “I just need your um, driver to sign a slip of paper.”

Lottie pauses, glancing towards the door. “Yeah, my brother was just getting his jacket from the car —”

“Oh, right, well —” Harry starts, trying to occupy himself with something when Louis comes through the door.

Fuck. 

Harry’s halfway through figuring out how to properly shove a stapler down his throat when he sees Louis, staring at one another in a moment of complete and utter awkwardness when Harry clears his throat. “So just, sign here —” he instructs, handing Louis a pink slip of paper as he does as instructed.

“She’s alright then? For going to class?” Louis asks.

“Should be. Just give this to your teacher, yeah? You should be fine,” Harry tells Lottie, giving her the paper. “Don’t lose that though. Or Mrs. Archer will have my head.”

Lottie laughs, thanking him before picking up her bag and leaving, saying a quick goodbye to Louis before the door closes behind her. And, Louis is still there. Harry considers shoving his head through his computer screen.

“So, the office at the secondary school? Sounds like a good job,” Louis comments.

“If you’re mocking me I’ll have you know Barbara thinks I’m an absolute delight,” Harry says. Louis smiles, looking down at the countertop as he shakes his head.

“A delight,” Louis repeats slowly, an amused smile on his face. “Is that a direct quote?”

Harry gives him a look. “Yes. I could get it in writing if you’d like,” he says.

Louis shakes his head. “I’ll take your word for it,” he says. A silence passes between them until, “how long are you in Holmes Chapel for?”

“A while.” Harry answers with a shrug. “I just finished school so I’m taking a ‘adjustment period’ as my mum likes to call it, or something. A chance to get back onto my feet.”

“Sure, yeah. Makes sense. I should get going though, gotta pick up mum from work,” Louis says, taking a step back towards the door. “I’ll see you around?”

“I’ll see you,” Harry replies, not stopping himself from watching Louis go.

The door clicks shut and he’s got to start working on this fucking newsletter again when he hears movement from the desk a little way behind his own.

“If that’s what you call flirting you need to have a few lessons, Harry dear,” Barbara says, not looking up from where she’s writing in a small book. 

And oh, if only she knew.

—

All things considered, Harry has reached a low point. 

Because he’s pretty sure standing in the middle of a twenty-four hour grocery shop with a basket of cereal and a container of icing tucked under his arm, a pack of cigarettes and his unshowered hair underneath a beanie in mismatching track pants and a jumper might, possibly, be a low point. It’s also almost eleven at night, most of the shop deserted as he looks through different kinds of instant noodles. He just wants chicken noodle but apparently that’s not a kind anymore, each one with a different, complicated name and leaving Harry cursing everything under the sun because he didn’t fucking sign up for this.

He should be sleeping. In the morning he’s got to pick up Gemma from the airport and take his mum to the shop because it’s Saturday, and while he should be sleeping in, he won’t be. 

But mostly, he just can’t sleep.

Probably because earlier this evening his mother told him some news he hadn’t been expecting. Well, that’s partly true, Harry thinks as he continues to look through instant noodle packages. He had sort of seen this coming for a while, he just hadn’t let himself think that it could happen.

His parents are getting a divorce. According to his mother, things haven’t been working well for a number of years. And they tried, giving it their best shot but — nothing seemed to work, not really. All Harry could really think about was how he felt a little dizzy, like everything around him was just out of focus. He couldn’t concentrate on anything except the way his mother’s voice started shaking, wiping at the corner of her eyes while she relayed everything to him.

It wasn’t working out. His father’s job isn’t doing very well. They might lose the house. These are no small things. These are big, huge things that Harry has no control over. He can’t change a thing about them and he supposes that’s what frustrates him the most. The fact that despite the fact that he wants too, he can’t help.

Or he could, maybe. Though he hasn’t a fucking clue how he could, considering him and his dad only talk twice a year for the most part. Once on Harry’s birthday and the other on Christmas. Though what with the impending divorce he think it might just be narrowed down to his birthday. Possibly.

He puts a package of beef stew noodles into his basket, staring off towards the dairy and produce aisle. Which is when he sees them.

It’s not uncommon for couples to be spotted in a grocery shop together. Harry supposes it’s more so the fact that it’s Louis and some guy he doesn’t know, standing in front of the yogurt section looking oddly close. The man in question has a hand around Louis’ waist, the two talking quietly and laughing to one another which. Sure. 

“Louis?” Harry asks, coming to stand beside him.

The look he gets in response is one of clear surprise. It’s a wonder he didn’t drop his own basket of items everywhere, blinking up at Harry with wide, blue eyes.

“Harry? I’m um — hi. Hello.” Louis starts, taking a step back. “I’m um, just getting a few things. We ran out of milk. And bread.”

“I can see that,” Harry answers, with what he can only assume to be an amused look on his features when he does. “Who’s your friend?”

For a split second it looks as though Louis has completely forgotten about the man next to him, suddenly snapping back into reality as he tugs on their arm. “Harry, this is Dan, my boyfriend. Dan, this is Harry. He’s a — friend I knew from a few summers ago.”

Harry coughs quietly, nearly choking on nothing as he glances towards Dan. “Nice to meet you,” he greets.

Dan shakes his hand briefly, giving Louis a look before smiling up towards Harry. “You as well. How did you say you two met?”

Harry shifts his weight awkwardly between his legs, staring at the shelves of milk before he hears Louis make a small noise in response. “We um, we met at the shop? I gave Harry an oil change.”

“And new tires. Can’t forget those. Very important.” Harry adds. Louis glares at him.

“I do hear those are important,” Dan says. Though he sounds a little more on the edge of sarcastic. And not in the ‘hey we just met let’s be funny’ kind of way but more the ‘fuck off’ kind of way.

Not that Harry is particularly good at reading people, but.

“Very important. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go pay for my shopping. Don’t want to further intrude on this little grocery date,” he says, motioning between the two of them.

“You alright though?” Louis asks, still watching Harry. “You look. Tired.”

Harry nods, mostly trying to convince himself at this point. “Fine, you know. New job, new added stress, it’s alright.”

Louis doesn’t look convinced. “It was good seeing you,” he says.

“You too. Nice to meet you, Dan,” Harry adds before going off towards the registers.

And if he possibly, maybe checks to see Louis and Dan every so often while he pays for his bill, it’s not a big thing. Because Louis is dating someone, which is good. Great, even. Harry is ecstatic for him. A little. Not majorly a lot but a bit, at least. Considering they were together a little less than four months with no real titles almost five summers ago is nothing compared to an actual, real boyfriend.

Harry pays the clerk before taking his bags and head back out towards his car. It’s colder now, the sun set as he shivers underneath his coat. The parking lot is almost dark as he sits for a moment, not moving.

His breath is coming out in small puffs when he takes out his phone.

“Can I come over?”

Zayn’s solution is: drink until you pass out and you don’t have to think about anything until morning.

Or that’s what he told Harry when he came to the door of his flat, instant noodles in hand when he’d gotten a beer handed to him. And God bless Zayn, truly. There’s a reason Harry’s kept him around for so many years.

“Fuck off, it’s me that’s been keeping you around,” Zayn slurs from across the couch, looking at Harry.

A little way’s away Niall is staring at them both, smirking. “You’re both idiots,” he chimes in.

“Cheers, Niall. You asshole.” Harry says, tipping his beer towards him. Niall grins up at him. 

They’re watching a Downton Abbey marathon because apparently that’s a thing with Niall and Zayn. Harry doesn’t really know what’s going on in this show except a lot of angry people and climactic music, though Zayn and Niall are very attached to the show. 

His world is still spinning from his conversation with his mum earlier, the image of Louis and Dan still etched in his brain from where he’s got his feet tucked under Zayn’s thigh. His toes are cold. His head hurts. His chest feels like it’s going to give out at any given moment.

But he doesn’t talk about it. 

Instead they watch the television, Harry sipping his drink and telling himself that it’s fine. He shouldn’t be upset. Well, he should upset about his parents but not so upset about his Louis dating some guy named Dan.

“What kind of a name is Dan, anyway?” Harry asks, leaning his head back.

Zayn and Niall exchange looks. “Harry —”

“No, I’m serious. I know what we had wasn’t — really set in stone, or anything, but really? Dan? What does Dan even do?” Harry continues, not bothering to try and stop himself.

“He’s a teacher,” Niall says finally, “teaches english, or something.”

Harry snorts. “Brilliant.”

Zayn stares at him for a moment, blinking slowly. “If you wanna talk about it we can, you know, your parents or anything —”

“No no, I’m fine.” Harry cuts him off, forcing a smile. 

Both Zayn and Niall look unconvinced, but they don’t say anything. Harry closes his eyes for a moment, trying to regain some sense of composure. “I mean, what. Did our entire summer together mean nothing to him?” he asks.

Neither of them say anything as Harry laughs, though it’s hardly funny. “I mean, it was an entire summer. I thought I loved him.”

Zayn’s got a gentle hand around his ankle, unmoving. He’s steady. He’s always been steady, Harry thinks to himself.

“Maybe you should have some water…” Zayn starts. Harry shakes his head.

“I don’t want water,” he says simply. “I’m gonna go get some air.”

No one argues with him when he stands, going out onto the small back porch as he takes out his phone. Which, in hindsight, probably isn’t the best decision. But he does it anyway, not listening to Zayn and Niall talking in the living room as he puts it to his ear.

“ _Hi, it’s Louis. Couldn’t get to my phone. Leave me a message!_ ” 

There’s a beep when Harry leans against the wall for some support. “I just saw you, at the shop. You might be sleeping, I don’t — I don’t really know what you’re doing, actually, to be honest. Because it’s been what, four years? Or something? And the last time I saw you we didn’t say much, I’m not really sure, I can’t remember right now. But I was an idiot when I was eighteen, Louis. I was a complete and utter arsehole and I’m — sorry, for the way I treated you. But you know my mum’s party? The one you left?” Harry pauses, closing his eyes as he takes in a deep breath. “I think about that day a lot, weirdly. Because you just left and I didn’t — I didn’t bring you there to parade you around, or whatever you thought it was. I brought you because I wanted you there but I knew when you left that I’d lost you. But I just. I just want you, Louis. That’s it. That’s all I want.”

He hangs up, not saying anything to Niall and Zayn before resuming his spot on the couch and not letting himself wonder if Louis has listened to his messages yet.

— 

Four day weeks are his favourites, Harry thinks. Because Thursday afternoon he doesn’t have to worry about anything except picking up dinner on his way home so his mother doesn’t have to cook when she’s home from work and no alarm to set for the next morning.

He says his goodbye to Barbara and Helena, taking his things and leaving the office. The after school rush is well under way as he gets into his car, driving off toward the local bakery where he picks up a loaf of bread to go with their spaghetti that he needs to warm up yet. 

The house is empty when he gets home, putting his keys into his coat pocket as he leaves it hanging on the rack. That is, until he sees the extra pair of shoes, tucked neatly against the wall. He pauses. From down the hall there’s the sound of movement as Harry first stops in the kitchen, putting down the loaf of bread on the counter before making his way toward the office. Or, his father’s office.

He knocks once before opening the door, finding his dad sorting a pile of papers, shirt untucked and hair a mess. It looks like he hasn’t slept in days, actually.

“Dad?”

“Just getting a few things,” he says quickly.

The only reason Harry ever came into this office was to get his usual lecture so it’s a little strange now, standing and watching his father packing up all his things to leave. “Do you need help with anything?” Harry asks.

His dad shakes his head. “I’m fine. I’ll be gone soon enough.”

Harry swallows, twisting his hands together in front of him. God, it’s like he’s eighteen years old again. “Are you — coming back?”

His question goes unanswered for a few moments, his father not looking up where he’s put a small box on his desk. There’s a noticeable amount of physical distance between them from the doorway to the desk but it’s more so the distance that’s been between them for most of his life. The one that stops him from saying anything now, hands in his pockets as he sighs.

“I don’t think so, Harry.” Is all his father says.

“So where are you going to go then?”

“London,” his father answers, “I have a flat there.”

It’s strange that he feels mostly relief, if anything. Though a part of Harry still doesn’t like the idea of his family being apart, not like this. 

“This isn’t —” Harry stops himself for a moment, trying to find the right words. “Because of me, is it?”

Ever since his mother told him about the divorce that had been his first thought, the first thing to come into his mind. He knows what answer she would’ve given him if she asked, so he knew he had to ask his dad. He’d be honest, because that’s who he is. 

But he looks up to see his father staring at him, with the first real look of anything other than anger or frustration Harry’s ever seen before. His face is softer now, and not just because of the dim lighting in the office. Almost like he’s about to cry.

“Harry no, no, no, no, this wasn’t your fault at all. You can’t — you can’t think that, alright? This is between your mother and I,” his voice is low, serious.

He nods slowly, so his father knows he was listening. “Good to know, then.”

There’s a number of things that could come to mind he could say but Harry instead finds himself taking a few steps inside, picking up a few boxes still not packed as he hands them to his father. They don’t say anything for a while, mostly filling up boxes and taping them shut. And that’s when it hits him, in a very real, uncomfortable way.

His father is packing up his life. 

“I know we haven’t, talked much,” his dad says a little while later when Harry’s helped him get all his things into his car. “But just — I know I was hard on you. And I feel bad for that.”

“Dad, don’t —”

“No, listen to me, alright? Just —” He puts his hands on Harry’s shoulders, oddly gentle. “You don’t want to end up like me, Harry. A broken marriage and a flat all to myself. You don’t want that. _I_ don’t want that for you.”

Harry blinks where his eyes sting from the small tears forming there, taking in a deep breath. “Call me when you’re settled in then? I’ll come visit, or something. We can have dinner.”

His dad nods. “I’d like that.”

They haven’t hugged much but Harry feels it’s appropriate to do so, standing in the middle of their driveway when he pulls his dad in close. 

He’s not completely sure, but Harry’s fairly certain he hears his father say a quiet “I’m proud of you” before he gets into his car, driving off down the street and leaving the house empty once more.

— 

It’s five past three in the morning and Harry’s in his bed. He’s tried to sleep, tossing and turning and even playing a bit of quiet music through his phone but nothing’s helping. Not warm milk not water, not anything. 

In one corner of his room is a jumper, folded up neatly and set on a chair he hasn’t bothered to move. He’d been tidying up his room earlier when he’d found it, tucked away on a shelf in his wardrobe. It’s not his jumper, which is why he had stopped when he saw it, pulling it off and into his hands.

It’s one of Louis’.

Harry supposes he could keep it, because it’s not like Louis has made a point of asking for it back. But something about having it in his room doesn’t sit well with him, makes him feel uneasy where he’s got his hands folded over his chest.

He doesn’t bother trying to go back to sleep, instead sitting up as he rubs his eyes. There is one idea he has, but it’s probably not the best idea he’s ever had. 

Anne’s already asleep when he gets his coat from his wardrobe, along with his keys and phone when he makes his way down the stairs into the front room. Gemma went back to London a few nights ago, the door to her room open next to the kitchen when he makes his way out to his car.

He still knows the way to Louis’ flat, like he drove there almost yesterday. The radio stays off as he goes, his headlights illuminating the otherwise dark road as he grips the steering wheel. And sometimes, in moments like this with the open road and nothing but the sound of the engine, three in the morning isn’t so bad. 

It’s almost a little better than any other time of the day, because it’s just a little while before the sun rises, Harry thinks as he pulls into a familiar car park. He sits there for a moment, cutting the engine before he gets out, reaching into the back seat to grab something before closing the door and locking the car.

There’s a bit more snow on the ground now, sticking to the sides of his boots as he walks up to the door of a small flat. Still the same faded blue paint is there as he brings his knuckles to tap on the door once, twice.

He half expects no one to come, so it’s a little surprising when he sees a small light turn on from the kitchen. 

“Harry?” Louis’ voices comes when the door opens, sounding as though he hasn’t slept at all.

“Hi,” Harry says, blinking from the bright lights from inside. “Can I come in?”

Louis opens it up further, giving Harry space to step inside. On the table there’s a few take out boxes, steam coming from a mug on the counter. It hasn’t changed much since the last time he was here, a few extra posters along the wall, the kitchen walls a dark shade of red from the white walls he remembers. 

“Is there a reason you’re here at three in the morning?” Louis asks, leaning against one of the chairs around the kitchen table.

Harry doesn’t say anything right away, putting the jumper down onto a small space of the table that’s cleared. 

For a moment Louis looks at it, reaching out to brush his fingers against the fabric before clearing his throat. “That’s my jumper,” he says finally.

“I found it this afternoon,” Harry explains. “Thought I’d return it.”

Louis’ expression is hard to read, bracing his hands against the back of the chair where he’s staring at the piece of clothing. The moment is heavy for a while, neither of them saying anything.

“I don’t want it, if that’s what you’re wondering. I haven’t exactly been missing it for four years, have I?” 

“It’s yours and I’m returning it, Louis,” Harry says firmly.

“You honestly drove all the way over here at three in the morning to give me back a jumper I don’t want?” Louis snaps.

“It’s _your_ jumper,” Harry replies, “why are you making such a big deal out of this?”

“I’m not making a big deal I just don’t — understand why you felt the fucking need to drop this off so early in the morning,” Louis says, not looking him in the eyes.

“Because I couldn’t sleep with it in my room,” Harry replies, rubbing a hand along his face. “I didn’t even think you’d be awake.”

That’s when he sees the boxes. There’s only a few of them, similar to in his dad’s office this morning when he’d helped pack them away. Harry stares at them for a moment, blinking as he takes in a deep breath. Like someone’s moving out. Niall had mentioned Dan and Louis had moved in together and —

“Looks like you’ve got your hands full though. I should go,” he finishes, scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s not going to fix us, you know.”

Harry’s got his hand on the handle when he turns, glancing back toward Louis over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

Louis sighs. “If you think this jumper is going to somehow makes us friends again, it’s not.”

“Louis —”

“I mean it, Harry. We can’t fix what we had because we were never friends,” Louis says.

“What are you on about, of course we were friends.” Harry says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No, we weren’t. One minute we were talking about beer pong in Jade’s garage and then the next we were going on a date, there wasn’t — we didn’t give ourselves any time to be friends,” Louis says.

Harry laughs, though it’s not the correct response to any of this. Mostly it’s because a part of him knows Louis is right and the other part of him knows that there isn’t a lot he can do to fix this situation or whatever it is, really.

“So what are we supposed to do then? You’re not giving me many options here,” Harry says finally, his voice sharp.

“We never worked, Harry. We were never going to work. And you leaving drunken voicemails on my phone telling me bullshit like you want me and you only want me isn’t fair either, I’ll have you know —”

“It wasn’t bullshit if it’s the truth,” Harry cuts him off, “I meant every word of that message, Louis.”

Louis sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what you want.”

“You know what I want. And you know what we can have. You’re just too scared to do anything about it, you were always scared,” Harry says, hands gripping the back of a chair. His knuckles are white where he’s looking at them, trying to steady his breathing and somehow make his heart slow where it’s beating rapidly in his chest. He feels dizzy. 

“I wasn’t scared, Harry, God I was — we were so _young_ and we both wanted so much that we couldn’t give each other, how did you think it was going to turn out? It was a summer fling it shouldn’t be lingering like this, we shouldn’t still be this stuck on each other —” 

“You’re still stuck on me?” Harry asks, glancing around the flat once more. “Is that what all these boxes are for?”

Louis stares at him for about half a minute, rubbing his temples. It’s almost four, Harry observes when he looks over toward the clock on the stove. “Dan heard your message. He just — I don’t know, he kept asking questions and I couldn’t answer them so he just, left,” he explains.

“What questions? What did he ask you?” Harry presses, though he notices Louis winces he does, recoiling from where he’s standing.

“It doesn’t matter, Harry. What matters is that we aren’t going to work.”

“You keep saying that,” Harry says. “But how do you know? We didn’t give it everything that summer but we’re older now, and we know what we want —”

“Don’t you fucking get it? I gave you everything I had that summer. I took you driving when you and your father fought every other night, you took me to the drive in and on all those stupid dates. We did everything couples were supposed to do in a small town when they’re in love, aren’t they? I mean, Jesus, Harry, you were my first kiss, did you even know that? My first kiss and my first — when we stayed at your parents cottage that one weekend it was just. You were _everything_ to me, Harry. I gave you everything I had. And still it didn’t — it didn’t work.”

Harry swallows, pinching his eyes closed to stop any sort of water from falling where his vision is blurring. He takes in a deep breath. “You don’t think you were my first everything either? Maybe not my first kiss, or my first — whatever but you were the first person I loved while doing those things with.”

The kitchen is quiet, save for the sound of the heater running. It’s loud, makes the floor shake a little where Harry’s standing. Louis has his arms wrapped around himself, as if trying to hold himself together from where he’s standing. 

“I think —” Louis starts, “you should go.”

“Louis, if we just talk about this maybe we can —”

“Harry. You should go.” Louis cuts him off firmly.

Harry nods, taking a step back as he moves toward the door. He doesn’t take the jumper, doesn’t take anything except his keys when he leaves, closing the front door and walking back toward his car.

When he pulls up into the house the sun is nearly rising, Harry locking the door to his car when he gets in the front door. There’s no use going back to bed, he won’t sleep as he puts his keys onto the small table near the closet when he notices the kitchen light on.

Harry kicks off his boots, leaving his jumper on when he spots his mom sitting at his usual spot at the counter. She looks up when he gets through the doorway, offering him a small, sad smile when she motions toward the kettle for tea.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks when he takes out a mug, now looking for some tea bags.

“Your sister called, apparently sick with some sort of flu. Couldn’t get back to sleep,” Anne says quietly. “What are you doing up?”

“Had to drop something off at a friend’s house,” Harry answers.

He pours the water into his mug, letting the bag steep where he braces his hip against the counter. Anne gives him a look. “At four in the morning?”

“Couldn’t wait,” Harry says. She laughs quietly in response, something Harry hasn’t heard in a while, he realizes.

“Apparently not,” Anne says, eyebrows raised before she shakes her head. “I’m going to go read in my room. There’s cinnamon buns in that container over there,” she adds, giving him a quick kiss to the cheek before going upstairs.

Her footsteps move slowly up the stairs when Harry sips his tea, keeping his mug between his hands when he takes a step down the hallway. It’s a few steps before he slowly opens the door to the office, nudging it a bit with his toes when he steps inside.

The room is almost completely empty, all the books and pictures gone. No computer. Just a chair, a desk, and some shelves. Harry stands there for a moment, taking in a deep breath before going to sit in the chair behind the desk. He’d only done this a few times growing up, mostly when his dad was gone and he had the office to himself, as he’d like to think to himself. Sometimes he’d imagine himself to be a businessman like his father, or possibly lawyer, sometimes even a judge as he glances to the wood of the desk. But now there’s no fear of being caught, no real reason for him to sit here.

Maybe because he misses his father. When he looks up again he notices a small picture frame, the only thing his father didn’t pack. Harry picks it up, fingertips running over the dusty edges as he bites down on the inside of his cheek. 

It’s from when he was eight, and they took a trip to their small cottage. He had just built a sandcastle with Anne, both of them crouched in front of it with Gemma and his father on either side of them. They all look younger, more tanned, sitting with another. 

Like it was a lifetime ago, almost, Harry thinks. He picks up his tea again, looking at it when he hears Louis’ voice in his head again, repeating the things he’d told Harry earlier that evening.

_You were everything to me, Harry._

—

The roads are bad. There’s snow and ice falling covering everything in its path, which apparently also includes the road. Harry’s been navigating most the drive alright, only having to stop once for a short food on the way. 

The drive from London is always longer than he remembers it to be, somehow. He grips the wheel, as if this will somehow keep his car steady. It doesn’t, the car jerking a bit to the left and Harry takes in a sharp breath.

He’s just ten minutes from home now, having left Liam’s art show early to try and make it home before midnight. But Harry hadn’t minded going, it’s been a while since he’s seen Liam and it was nice to see what sort of work he’s been up to. Since he got the job at the art gallery it’s all he can seem to talk about, and now Harry can see why.

He misses Liam. 

Harry starts turning right, carefully moving the wheel when there’s a loud noise and suddenly his car stops. The engine is still running when he curses, hitting the wheel with the palm of his hand when he opens the door, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened when he spots it.

His back left wheel popped. He swears again, this time more loud, kicking at it angrily though that’s hardly going to help his situation any. Snow is starting to fall again when he goes back into his car, taking out his phone as he calls Zayn.

The conversation goes how he figures it would; he’s in Mullingar for Niall’s family, apparently, as Harry groans. “You know who you should call,” is all Zayn says before hanging up, sounding weirdly ominous.

And he could call his mother but she’d do the same thing. They would all call the same mechanic shop. Harry wants to scream. Instead he calls the number he knows he should, pressing the phone to his ear when someone on the other line answers.

According to Devon, the kid who answered, someone was going to be there in less than thirty minutes, give or take. When asked he didn’t specify if it was going to be himself or Louis, instead he hung on Harry, which. Isn’t helping his stress on the situation. He calls his mum to let her know what was going on, texts Zayn and tells him he’s an ass, so now all he really can do is wait.

Maybe he should have stayed with Liam the night like he’d offered when the weather had started not looking so good but Harry had said no, because apparently he thinks he can brave even the weather when the time calls for it. There’s a set of lights that turn onto the road then as Harry pauses, cutting the engine as he puts his phone back into his pockets. It’s a tow truck and despite squinting his eyes he can’t see who’s in the drivers seat.

He gets out, leaning against the door when the car parks next to him. It’s Louis, Harry can see that clearly when he gets out of the drivers seat, closing the door behind himself. 

“Are you hurt?” is his first question.

Harry shakes his head. “Just the car. The back left tire blew out.”

Louis looks at him a moment before nodding, taking a flashlight where he goes to look at the damage. He winces noticeably which Harry isn’t taking as a particularly good sign before he stands, wiping the heels of his hands against his thighs.

“I’m going to have to take it into the shop,” Louis tells him.

“I figured,” Harry replies, hands in his pockets when he shrugs.

It’s just the two of them standing there, snow falling in the bright lights of the tow truck. Louis is breathing heavily from where he’s standing, watching Harry closely and it’s a bit — unnerving, to say the least. Because the last time Harry had seen Louis he’d hardly looked him in the eye and now he can’t seem to look away. 

“Harry —” Louis starts, but Harry doesn’t want to talk. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Harry nods once, keeping his hands in his pocket when Louis takes a step toward him. Neither of them say anything when Louis crowds him against the car, leaning up to tug on his jacket when Harry takes in a sharp breath.

He was cold a moment ago but that’s faded now when Louis is pressing his lips against Harry’s, not so much hesitant and soft but instead demanding in the way he bites Harry’s lower lip, sending a wave of heat through him.

“The car —” Harry starts, whining when he feels Louis’ hand pull on the waist of his jeans. 

“After?” Louis asks, breathless.

“After.” Harry agrees.

There’s a moment where Louis looks to consider if they just left the car but it lasts for just a few seconds before he makes quick work of getting the car ready to be towed when they get into the truck. Harry doesn’t say anything, just rests a hand on Louis’ thigh when they drive and tries to fucking breathe.

He’s barely got his foot in the door when Louis is kissing him again, pressing him up against a wall and Harry groans because, God. He can hardly think when Louis is pressing kisses along his neck, hands already under Harry’s shirts when they stumble back toward his bedroom. That’s when Harry remembers, pulling away from Louis’ red, slightly swollen lips.

“Dan?” Harry asks.

“Left a week after you moved back,” Louis replies before kissing him again.

“Didn’t think you could tell me this bit of information before?” Harry asks, trying to find the handle to open the bedroom door in the dark hallway.

“Didn’t think it mattered before,” Louis replies but he’s laughing when Harry finally manages to get the fucking door open.

Harry kicks the door shut behind them, deciding that he’s going to need a little more time to get reacquainted with Louis. Not that either of them seem to mind.

— 

“Harry, I need you to help me set up, I don’t need you picking through all my food!”

“I’m taste testing,” Harry argues, wincing when his mother slaps the back of his hand.

“Louis, you’re on Harry duty.” Anne instructs. Somewhere in the kitchen he can hear Gemma laughing. 

Harry scowls. “I don’t need supervision —” he starts but then Louis is there, taking Harry’s hands from where they were previously trying to take hold of a raspberry tart.

“Careful, Louis. He’s a bit of a handful,” Gemma warns, setting up plates on the table near the back door.

“Believe me, I know.” Louis says in agreement.

“I don’t appreciate this,” Harry pouts.

However he finds no sympathy with Louis laughing quietly, tucking a stray curl somewhere behind his ear as Gemma rolls her eyes dramatically. He doesn’t have a chance to say anything when he feels a small tug on his wrist, Louis leading him out into the small hallway as Harry looks at him.

“You’ve got something —” Louis says, bringing the pad of this thumb to wipe at the corner of Harry’s mouth. He shivers in response.

“Is this your way of distracting me?” Harry asks, trying to sound at least a little appalled. 

Louis shrugs, straightening out Harry’s tie. “You don’t seem to mind though,” he comments, raising his eyebrows.

Harry grins, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Probably true,” he replies, ignoring Gemma and his mother arguing from inside the kitchen as he kisses Louis instead.

That is, until —

“Harry! Louis! The tent’s blown down again, we need you!” Gemma calls loudly.

“Where are they, did we lose them again? Like a bunch of teenagers —” Anne adds and Harry laughs because, well.

Some things never change.

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on tumblr [here](http://loueh.tumblr.com/)!


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